The Surprising Journey of Cassie Morgan
by TheFrenchBookworm
Summary: "I had never given Death much thought. It had always seemed so abstract. It was something to be feared by the old and sick. I was neither, and so I never paused to consider that my life might be cut short, ripped from my grasp at a second's notice." A wise man once said that death is but the next great adventure. Cassie never thought he'd meant it quite so literally. No pairings
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

I had never given Death much thought.

Strange, I suppose. Given my status during the war, it should have been my chief preoccupation. I should have spent many a sleepless night tossing and turning, jumping at the slightest sound, cowering in the darkness, obsessing over when it would happen, and what it would feel like. Would it all be over in a flash of green light? Quick and painless? Or would my killer draw it out, taking pleasure in my tortured screams. Would I have to beg for mercy before l was finally given peace?

But no. I was young. Death seemed unreal to me at the time. It was something to be feared by the old and the sick. I was neither, and so I never paused to consider that my life might be cut short, ripped from my grasp at a second's notice. Even during the Final Battle, surrounded by Death Eaters, firing spell after spell as the castle crumbled around me, I always believed I would live.

If only for another day.

I was so intent on surviving that the idea that I might fail never crossed my mind.

It happened so fast. I almost missed the killing curse that hit me in the chest.

My life did not flash before my eyes as I toppled backwards. My only reaction was a twinge of surprise at the unexpected attack. I hadn't even had time to reach for my wand. My head hit the pavement with a loud _Crack_, but I felt no pain. There was a strange rushing sound in my ears and suddenly the world was too bright.

Then darkness fell and I was left floating in nothingness.

But not for long.

_Thud thud_. I gasped as my heart suddenly kick-started, arching my back against the sharp ache, gulping in the cold air. _Thud thud_. It was as if it was being squeezed by a giant fist, forcing it to pump the blood throughout my body. I felt my chest might burst under the pressure. The pain expanded, engulfing me completely, burning, _burning_-

And abruptly it was over. The scorching sensation disappeared and I was left weak and shaking, gasping for breath as my heart beat erratically in my ribcage.

I lay trembling on the cold ground for a long time, too shocked to even twitch my fingers. _What the hell had just happened?_

Only then did it dawn upon me that something was wrong. I few moments ago, I had been strolling down the streets of London, the sound of traffic and bustling citizens heavy in the air. Now, everything was quiet. No angry horns blaring, no shouting, nothing. I felt the ground beneath me. It was…_earthy_. It _smelled _earthy too. Petrichor. The smell of dirt after rain.

My eyes fluttered open and I stared.

No, I had never given Death much thought. It had always seemed so abstract. It happened to other, less fortunate people. Not to me.

But I guess that if taken a moment to think, to ponder the inevitable, I would have imagined some sort of afterlife. A place where pain and hunger no longer existed. A place where your loved ones would wait patiently for your time to come, for you to join them.

But I never expected Death to be _green_.


	2. Lost and Found

**Lost and Found**

It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the sudden light, but when everything finally swam into focus I blinked, surprised. I was staring up into a thick, canopy of leaves. I tilted my head slightly, wincing when the muscles in my neck ached in protest. The branches waved lazily in the breeze, twinkling somewhat where the sunlight pierced through. I could detect a hint of blue sky above them, a pleasant contrast to the lush-green colour of the leaves. The earth felt damp beneath my hands, as if it had rained not long ago. I allowed myself to finger the dirt for a moment marvelling in its texture and the rich sent that wafted from all around me.

When my heartbeat had slowed somewhat I rolled onto my side and pushed myself carefully into a sitting position, groaning as my muscles flexed. I felt battered and bruised, as if I'd been trampled on by a horde of angry hippogriffs. How had I arrived-?

I gasped as the memory resurfaced. The street, the curse, _my attacker_.

I glanced wildly left and right, scanning my surroundings for movement as I searched my pockets franticly for my wand. I came up short. They were empty.

My gut went cold as I delved my hands deeper into my jeans, hoping beyond hope that I was mistaken. Then I searched my jacket, then my sleeves. Still nothing.

I had lost my wand.

Dread bubbled up inside me. I_ needed_ my wand. I felt naked without it, defenceless, just a lost, helpless girl. My aggressor was still out there, probably about to stumble upon me any second now -

_Stop,_ my inner voice commanded. _Calm down. No one is attacking you._ I concentrated on breathing in and out, in and out; all the while taking in my surroundings, searching for something, _anything_ that could serve as a weapon.

Even in my panicked state, I could see that the forest was beautiful. From the middle of the clearing in which I was sitting, it seemed to stretch on indefinitely. The trees were spaced, easing some of my claustrophobia, and covered in thick green moss. Shifting patterns of light danced across the scenery, creating different shades and patterns of emerald before my eyes.

I was alone.

Easing myself gingerly to my feet, I grabbed a solid looking branch from the ground and held it firmly in my fist. At least I wasn't _completely _defenceless.

Feeling slightly better, I headed over to a fallen tree, settled myself on the log, and set about to wondering what the hell I was doing in these woods in the first place.

Had I apparated? I briefly considered the possibility before putting it aside. No. Whatever had happened, it definitely had not felt like any form of apparartion. I flexed my left hand where two of my fingers were missing, ripped off in a splinching incident that had taken place the previous year.

Portkey then? Equally unlikely. One had to be in physical contact with a bewitched object to be able to travel that way, and I had been walking down a busy street full of muggles.

Then…what? There was absolutely no explanation for what had happened. How could I have travelled from a crowded street to empty forest in a matter of seconds?

The curse. I closed my eyes, dread seeping into the pit of my stomach. A flashing green light. _Avada Kedavra_. The killing curse.

_Am I dead?_

I pushed the thought aside, refusing to consider it, and moved onto the next problem: How to get back. I mulled over the possibilities for a long while before giving up on a magical solution. I didn't dare try anything without my wand, the outcome was too risky.

Brushing the dirt off my jeans, I hopped of the fallen log, gave one last searching gaze over the clearing, still hoping to find my wand amongst the fallen leaves, and when it became clear that there was no reason for me to linger, I chose a direction and marched off into the trees.

oooOOOooo

About three hours later, give or take, I was still crashing through the underbrush, cursing whatever higher power had magicked me into this godforsaken forest. Although it had lost none of its pleasant appearance, the woods were turning out to be one hell of a hike. I kept tripping up on twisted tree roots and my jeans were ripped in several places in result of my falls. Running a hand through my hair, I pulled out a twig with a few leaves still attached. _Fantastic_. It would take forever to untangle.

Dusk was slowly falling, compromising my vision until I could barely see the trees in front of me, and _still_ there was not the slightest hint of the forest's ending. And to make matters worse a cool breeze was building up from behind, sending icy waves up my back where my clothes were still damp.

I stumbled for what seemed like the umpteenth time, spreading my hands out in front of me to break my fall and scraping my palms on a jagged rock.

"_Ow!_" I cried, no longer bothering to keep my voice down. The first few minutes of my hike had been spent carefully avoiding dead branches under my feet, my makeshift weapon lifted gingerly above my head, ready to come swinging down at the first hint of trouble. After a while I began to feel stupid creeping at a snail-pace amongst the trees when it was obvious that I wasn't being followed, so I stopped trying to be discreet. Now I was almost going out of my way to cause as much raucous as possible, if only to have someone find me so that I could _finally_ be told where I was.

I squinted at my right hand, examining the damage. I had two shallow cuts stretching across my palm. Nothing too serious, but I knew even the most casual injuries could become dangerous if they were not tended to properly. I had nothing to disinfect the cuts, so I settled to applying a generous coat of saliva, hoping it would be enough to clean the wound.

"Does this blasted forest _ever_ end?" I growled to no one in particular, pushing myself up from the ground and trudging forwards. And suddenly, just like that, in a few steps the trees around me thinned and I was out of the woods.

My victory was short-lived. I was hoping to fall upon some form of civilization once I had left the forest, a village or town perhaps, which would help me pinpoint my location, but in the fading light I could make out only sloping fields. Not a house in sight.

_Brilliant. I've been zapped into the middle of freakin' nowhere._

I perked up a little when I noticed a small dirt road twisting in and out of sight amongst the hills. Ignoring my aching feet, I started down the slope, treading carefully to avoid slipping on the wet grass. It wasn't long before I reached the path, and there I was faced with a new dilemma. Left or right? Which way was more likely to lead me home?

_Use the stars_, my interior voice scolded. _Find out which way is north._ Tilting my head upwards, I turned around in a slow circle, searching the night skies for the North Star. It was the first star I had ever learnt to recognize in Astronomy and I knew it well. It had helped me find my way on countless occasions in the previous year, during my time on the run, when I had had neither compass nor map to help me navigate my way across the country.

But that night the star was nowhere to be found.

A burst of hysterical laughter escaped my lips. This really was the last straw. How could the bloody _Northern Star _be missing from the sky? In fact, I realized as I scanned the heavens more closely, ranking my brains in search of familiar constellations, I didn't recognize _any_ of these stars.

"You have got to be _kidding_ me!"

At this point, I was pretty much past being surprised at every new oddity that crossed my path. My brain had settled into a sort of post-shock numbness. I was tired, cold and hungry. I really didn't have a clue of what to do with this new, alarming information, so I pushed it aside to focus on more pressing problems. Like the fact that dusk had now fully set and that I was no closer to finding my way than I had been three hours ago. In my current state of mind, the stars seemed like a minor hitch in an overall shitty day. I would deal with them when I had found a dry place to spend the night, hopefully with a full stomach. And a strong drink. After the last couple of hours I'd just spent, I felt that I very much deserved a pick-me-up.

"Eenie meenie miney moe," I muttered. I turned right and started at a brisk pace down the path.

oooOOOooo

The first sign of life that I came across was a small, remote house by the side of road. It was a sweet little thing, and it reminded me of the cosy, old fashion cottages that my mother and I would sometimes see during our walks in the countryside long ago, when there had still been some semblance of a bond between us. Although it was hard to make out in the dark, I could see rose bushes growing here and there around the house, and a little stone wall tracing out the limits of the property. A light flickered behind the closed curtains, promising warmth and safety from the bitter night. Relief flooded me. I hopped over the wall, barely registering how small the little stone structure really was. It hardly reached my knees and the gate looked as if it had been made for a child. I didn't let it worry me though as I walked up the path to the front door; at this point I would have been happy with an abandoned ruin. I stooped low and knocked at the little door.

I didn't have to wait long until the sound of pattering feet reached my ears. The door cracked open an inch, letting out a slim ray of light. I could just make out the form of a small figure standing on the inside, staring at me warily.

"What do you want?"

I blinked in surprise. Judging by his size, I had expected the person behind the door to be a child, but the voice that greeted me now was far too deep in its timbre for a kid. Was he some sort of midget?

I quickly hid my reaction, aware that the small man's suspicious gaze was traveling up and down my person, taking in my ripped and dirty clothing. I suddenly felt very self-conscience.

"Excuse me sir," I faltered a little, unsure of what to say. The man stared back. "Um," I cleared my throat. "I'm afraid I'm lost and-"

Upon hearing my words, the short man's eye's narrowed, and he slammed the door shut. I heard the unmistakable sound of a lock being turned.

"Hey!" I called, banging my fist on the door, "Wait a second!"

"Go away!" came a muffled shout, "We don't want any Big Folk here!"

I paused for a second, unwilling to let my one chance at a shelter for the night slip away. "Can you at least tell me where I am?"

Silence. The small man had retreated back into his cottage, leaving me shivering at the door. I was about to head to the back of the house to see if there was a a window where I might be able to attract the man's attention again when I was interrupted.

"I would not trouble myself if I were you, my dear. Hobbits are a gentle folk who dislike being disturbed. Most of them spend their entire lives without ever seeing Mankind."

I spun in the direction of the voice and was surprised to see a figure standing by the brick wall. I had not been aware of an audience. I slowly made my way back down the path and stepped over the wall, keeping my eyes on the stranger during the whole process. He was an old man wrapped in a grey traveling cloak, leaning heavily on a long walking-stick. He wore a grey pointed hat and his long white beard hung down below his waist.

I watched him in silence, suspicion seeping its way back into my mind. The small man's reaction had put me on edge and the sudden appearance of this odd looking stranger was doing nothing to ease my discomfort. The old man however seemed oblivious to my unease.

"You seem in need of directions," he said. "May I be of any assistance?"

"No," I replied automatically, the Slytherin inside me instantly weary. _What the hell are you doing?_ a small part of my brain demanded. _You've been searching for help for hours and now that you've finally stumbled across another human being you're going to turn it down? He looks harmless!_

_Yes,_ I answered myself, _but where did he come from? And how come you didn't hear him walking up the road? _Over the years my interior voice had taken to mimicking my mother's disapproving tone with disturbing accuracy.

The old man did not seem disturbed in the slightest as I took a careful step backwards, putting some distance between us. On the contrary, he looked almost amused._  
_

"Is something troubling you, my dear?"

_Yes,_ I wanted to answer. _I've been hiking through a forest all afternoon and I haven't a clue how a got there, which is saying something seeing as I'm a witch. I'm cold, tired and freakin' hungry. The stars are in the wrong place in the sky, so I have no idea which way is north. A tiny man just slammed his front door in my face and now you've appeared out of the blue, asking me stupid questions. _That's _what's wrong._

But that, of course, would never do so instead I simply asked, "Do you have a mobile phone I could borrow?" I hated using muggle devices but right now I couldn't afford to be picky.

The old man looked politely confused. He didn't seem to know what I was talking about. So…a wizard? He _was_ wearing robes after all, although they were ragged looking and a little out of date. I threw him another question before he had time to answer. "Which way is London?"

He leant forwards, resting both hands on the end of his staff. "I'm afraid that I have never heard of that city. Is that where you hail from?"

I grunted noncommittally, processing this new information. This man - _wizard? _- had never heard of the capital of England. Was he some kind of hermit?

_Careful,_ I cautioned myself. _The war's only been over for six months. The Ministry of Magic is still rounding up Death Eaters who fled at the end of the Final Battle. _I focused on the man's face, trying to picture him without a beard. Did I recognise him from any of the Ministry's official _wanted_ posters that had been plastered all over Diagon alley for months now?

The old man returned my stare with a scrutinising gaze, his eyes lingering on my tangled hair and filthy clothing, probably drawing conclusions of his own. Was it possible that he was a Death Eater? If so, then I was in serious trouble. My hand twitched to the pocked where my wand should have been. If he attacked, I was as good as dead.

He spoke abruptly. "I am Gandalf the Grey."

I kind of a name was _that_? The old man - _Gandalf _- tilted his head, obviously waiting for me to say something.

"Oh…um," I paused, unsure whether or not it was wise to give a potential Death Eater my name.

He smiled encouragingly.

_Oh, to hell with it,_ I thought, and said, "I'm Cassie Morgan."

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow. "An unusual name."

I snorted. _Look who's talking. _Despite my best efforts my guard was beginning to slip. It was hard to believe that this cheerful stranger might be an ex-servant of You-Know-Who. Besides, he looked at least seventy years old. What was the worst he could do?

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Now then, my dear," he said in a business-like tone. "Perhaps you would like to explain to me what a young lady such as yourself is doing alone at dusk terrorising the good people of the Shire?" He glanced pointedly over my shoulder at the small cottage.

I frowned. In truth I had almost forgotten about the odd little man. "Well," I hesitated, uncertain about how to define my peculiar situation "I guess I'm sort of lost."

The old man looked at me in mild interest. "Indeed?" he asked "Well, I am gathering with some old friends of mine in Hobbiton, which is not very far from here. I am certain we can find someone willing to give you directions there." He pulled away from his staff and started at a brisk pace down the dirt road. "Come along now," he called over his shoulder.

I hesitated for a moment, briefly contemplating my options before realising that I didn't have any and hurrying after the old man. I fell in pace besides him and we walked in silence. From time to time I sneaked a glance in Gandalf's direction. He moved quite fluently for someone so old and barely seemed to be leaning on his staff at all.

After a few minutes of this I decided to start up the conversation again. "So," I said, "Hobbiton right?" Gandalf nodded. "Never heard of it." I gestured over my shoulder in the general direction of the house we'd left behind. "Any more of those little guys living over there? What _was_ he by the way?"

"He was a hobbit," Gandalf answered. "And yes, there are many of them living in the Shire. It is their homeland after all."

The clogs whirled in my brain. I hadn't gotten a good look at the short man, but he'd seemed to be about goblin-sized. Was hobbit another word for goblin here, wherever _here_ was? I racked my brains, trying to remember the last time I'd spotted a goblin outside of Gringott's, but could not recall having ever seen one of the gold-loving creatures away from the sanctuary of their bank.

My stomach chose that moment to voice its complaints, growling loudly. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and my afternoon hike had left me starving in its wake.

Gandalf glanced down at me with piercing blue eyes. "I must say, I have never met someone clothed quite as strangely as you, Cassie. Am I right in assuming that you are very far from home?"

His remark irritatied me. Yes, my clothes were a little disheveled, but there was nothing _strange_ about them. At least, not from a muggle's perspective. I allowed my gaze to trail over my companion's slightly hunched figure. He wore robes, didn't know what a mobile phone was and obviously thought something was off about the way I dressed. All evidence seemed to point towards him being a wizard.

And yet…

Some paranoiac part of me, no doubt left over from the war, urged me to play it safe. _Say vague. Don't give him too many details._

"Yes. No. I don't know." I winced as the words left my mouth, aware that I must sound like a lunatic. "I'm not exactly sure how I got here."

"Is that so?" Gandalf suddenly stopped in his tracks, forcing me to double back. Our eyes locked and I suddenly felt small and exposed, as if he knew exactly what I was and what I was hiding. I gulped, trapped in his stare, unable to look away. The old man seemed to be debating with himself. Finally, after an immeasurable amount of time, he freed me from his gaze and resumed walking. It was a moment before I regained enough of my composure to follow.

"In that case," Gandalf continued as I fell in pace beside him, acting as if our little stare-off had never taken place, "perhaps you would be so kind as to join my friends and me for dinner. My conscience would not allow me to leave you stranded alone outdoors at such a late hour."

His proposal caught me off guard and I worked to keep my surprise from showing as I quickly reviewed the pros and the cons. On the one hand was the fact that I knew absolutely nothing about this guy other that he was some kind of hermit, possibly a wizard. He might _look_ old but was capable of moving fast and without noise. This could very well be a trap. I doubted that he would be able to take me down alone, but with his friends he would outnumber me. The safest thing to do would be to thank him and politely decline his offer. I would figure a way home on my own.

But on the other hand, he was offering me food. And I was hungry. My stomach rumbled again as if to second that argument.

I sighed. The old man hadn't yet given me reason to doubt him. On the contrary, he'd been nothing but kind.

"Sure, why not?" I made a gesture with my hand. "Lead the way."


	3. The Unexpected Party

**The Unexpected Party**

As we walked I told Gandalf what little I could about my mysterious arrival in the woods, being careful to gloss over details such as being a witch (without my wand, I had no way to prove it) and without giving a too accurate description of London. Instead, I told him that I was very far from home and that I had left to travel for a while, wanting to escape the aftermath of a war that had destroyed a large part of our society. Truth be told, I wasn't very far off the mark.

During my monologue I began to question my assumption that the old man might be a wizard. He didn't seem to have any knowledge whatsoever concerning the war against You-know-who, and appeared unfamiliar with the few magic-related words that I purposefully let slip into the conversation. Frustration twisted my gut. The man was too bizarre to be a muggle and far too ignorant to be a wizard. He fit into neither category and it was putting me on edge. _  
_

What was more, Gandalf was asking questions of his own. Questions that I was having a hard time answering. Where exactly did I say I was from? London? Was it north of the Shire? East? Over the Misty Mountains? How I traveled so far by myself? Which war was I referring to? I tried to answer each question as indirectly as I could, but it was obvious he wasn't buying my story.

After a while of this he said, "Do not think you can fool me, young lady. I am aware that there are certain parts of your tale you are purposefully withholding, allthough I cannot guess why. That is perfectly understandable. We are all entitled to our secrets, so long as they do not threaten the lives of others, and you do not seem particularly threatening to me. Although," he gave me a scrutinizing look, once again trapping me in his gaze, "you do seem to be more lost than you first let on." He turned away.

There was an awkward silence. I was a little surprised that he was letting me of the hook so easily. If our places had been reversed, I would defiantly have found my behavior suspicious and would have pried for more information. But Gandalf, apparently, was willing to humor me.

My thoughts were interrupted by another question. "What exactly was your role in this war that you mentioned?"

"I was part of the resistance."

"Really?" This seemed to intrigue the old man. "So I take it you know how to defend yourself?"

"I know how to fight, yes." I was suddenly suspicious. "Why do you want to know?"

But Gandalf chose that moment to point something out farther ahead. "Look." He gestured up the path with his staff. "We are approaching Hobbiton. It won't be long now before we reach our destination."

I squinted but there nothing particularly striking in the pleasant landscape to catch my eye. "What am I looking for?"

"There, at the base of the hill. Do you not see the hole?"

I peered through the darkness, focusing on the slope ahead of us. Now that he mentioned it I _could_ see something…a door. A little door and windows producing from the side of the hill. As we approached, the signs of civilization became more numerous. Tidy front gardens, stone walkways, mailboxes... the village of Hobbiton slowly emerged, looking for all the world as though it had been designed for a group of small children. There was a picturesque air about it, and I felt the village would not have looked out of place on one of those lifeless muggle postcards I saw in tourist shops on my way to work. Once or twice I caught a flash of movement behind closed curtains, as if someone was peeking through from the inside. _The locals don't seem to like us passing through,_ I thought as I recalled the little man's reaction to me earlier.

"Do these holes all belong to…hobbits?" I asked Gandalf.

"Yes, these are all hobbit-holes and -" a sudden shout cut across the old man's reply.

"Gandalf!"

I spun round in the direction of the voice, my hand automatically twitching towards my right pocket. _Idiot,_ I cursed myself, grudgingly relaxing my poise. Gandalf had also turned to face the newcomers, smiling wildly beneath his bushy mustache. "Bofur!" he called in greeting. "I thought that I had given you quite enough time to arrive at Mister Baggins' by now!"

Eight stocky figures were walking up the path behind us, making such a racket it was a wonder I hadn't heard them approaching sooner. _Then again,_ I thought, glancing up at the old man, _you didn't hear this one coming either. You're out of practice, Cass._ I focused my attention back onto the newcomers just as one of them exclaimed, "Well, his hobbit-hole has not been easy to locate. We've been walking in circles for about an hour!" The party halted in front of us.

The first thing I noticed was that they were all very short - at least two feet shorter than me - and very hairy. Each appeared to be sporting some sort of extravagant beard and braid. They definitely weren't human. I was just wondering whether the newcomers were hobbits when Gandalf spoke.

"Master Dwarf," he said in an amused voice. "I could not have made the task simpler for you. I marked the front door myself!"

I felt my jaw drop. _Dwarves_? What? I racked my brains, flitting through the different races that were familiar to me. Centaurs, mermen, gnomes, elves... I had both studied and encountered all of these. But _dwarves?_

"Yes, well," one of the short men grumbled, "You told us it would be easy to find." The others muttered in agreement, shooting annoyed glances in the old man's direction.

Gandalf cleared his throat, putting an end to the grumbling. "The important thing is that you are all here now." He gave the dwarves a stern look, as if daring them to contradict him. They remained silent. "Now then," he continued when he was satisfied that there would be no more complaints, "If you would all follow me."

"Half a second," someone said. I glanced over my shoulder to see that one of the dwarves had stepped forwards, eyeing me curiously. "Who's this? You never said anything about bringing company."

Gandalf almost looked as if he had hoped I might pass unnoticed. "Where are my manners?" he cried, grasping me by the shoulder and pushing me into sight. "Miss Morgan, may I introduce to you the dwarves Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur." He turned to the dwarfs. "Master Dwarves, this young lady who will be gracing us with her presence tonight is Cassie Morgan.

"Pleasure," I muttered, having already forgotten all of their names. The dwarves looked as though they would have liked to ask more questions, but Gandalf was having none of that.

"Come now," he called, marching up the road and dragging me along beside him, "We are late enough as is it. It would be impolite to keep out host waiting." Once we were out of earshot of the dwarves, he bent down and muttered: "Best to let me do the talking for now. Dwarves are a stubborn bunch and I doubt they would take to your story with as little questioning as I have." I nodded in agreement, my mind still reeling from the impossible encounter. _Dwarves._

As we ventured deeper into Hobbiton the small path began to twist and turn amongst the hills, revealing more and more hobbit-holes, until finally, we reached a round door that was located far higher up the hill than that of its neighbors. It was painted in a lovely green color (the paint looked new) and the front garden was teeming with flowers in bloom. All in all, the hobbit-hole looked a lot nicer, and considerably richer, than the others that we had passed so far. But that was not the most remarkable thing about that particular door. As we neared it, I was able to make out a strange, glowing mark that had been scratched out onto the wood, very visible in the darkness.

"There," Gandalf announced as he swung open the little gate and proceeded to march up the steps leading to the front door. "We have arrived at our burglar's home. Now then," He said as the dwarves pressed past me excitedly, shoving each other out of the way to be the first in front of the little green door (I was happy to hang back and watch), "I do believe that some of the others will have started to arrive by now, and it would not do to overwhelm our poor master Baggins." Gandalf lent forwards and rapped on the door smartly with his staff. "Therefore, I urge you to -"

But exactly what he would urge us to do, we never found out, for at that precise moment the door swung open and the dwarves - who had been pressed up against it - all toppled forwards into a grumbling heap on the floor. I snorted with laughter as cries of "_Get off, you great oaf!_" reached my ears, but quieted down under Gandalf's stern gaze.

It was at that moment that I got my first proper look at a hobbit. My initial thought was: _he looks nothing _like_ a goblin. _The man at the door was slightly shorter than the dwarves and of slimmer build. The tips of his pointed ears were just visible under his mop of short brown curls. He staggered away from the pile of tangled dwarves, revealing a pair of comically large bare feet covered from ankles down with coarse fur. The hobbit's startled look quickly turned to one of forced resignation as his gaze found the man standing by my side.

"Gandalf," he breathed grimly. The old man had the grace to look sheepish.

oooOOOooo

Inside the hobbit-hole was pandemonium. Dwarves were racing left and right, rearranging the furniture, dumping their belongings in the hall, leaving muddy boot prints all over the floor, and _eating_. My god, it was like they hadn't eaten in days. The sight of them stuffing their faces in was almost enough to make lose my appetite. They just never seemed to _stop._ As soon as one dish was licked clean, it was immediately removed and replaced with another. Dwarves marched to and fro from the larder carrying plates piled high with meat, cheese, bread, you name it - and in the midst of it all, the poor little hobbit was darting amongst them, squeaking to anyone who'd listen to _put that back!_

It had quickly become clear to me that Bilbo Baggins had had absolutely no idea that we were coming, and that this party was entirely unexpected. He was completely overwhelmed by the situation, which was getting rather out of hand. One of the dwarves (I couldn't remember his name) had disappeared for a short while only to reappear grinning victoriously with a large barrel in his arms, no doubt containing some sort of alcohol. Upon seeing this, the dwarves had crowed with delight and several others had run off to get barrels of their own. Now they were drinking heartily, banging the table with their fists in tune to a song they were singing.

I could defiantly feel for the hobbit. I wasn't really in a festive mood either, having retreated to a corner of the room with a roll of bread that I had managed to snatch from a passing platter earlier. The ceiling was too low for me to stand so I was sitting cross-legged, my back against the wall, surveying the scene as it unfolded before me.

Truth be told, I was having a bit of a panic-attack. It was as if my brain was stuck in a loop, going over and over the events of the afternoon, trying and failing to make sense of the situation. Could it only have been this morning that I was at work in Diagon Alley? How had I suddenly been ripped form my comfortable routine and stuffed into this _madness_? Then the images would flash before my eyes. The curse, the forest, _the stars_. That was the one that came back to haunt me the most. _The stars, the stars, the stars._ I felt as if I was missing something huge, something obvious.

_Where am I?_

Then, suddenly, I was struck with an inspiration. All I needed to do was find a map. Then I would be able to pinpoint my location and figure out a way home. I leapt to my feet, hitting my head on the low ceiling in my haste, and hurried off to find the Hobbit. He was bound to have a few maps lying around.

I found him in the heart of the fray, fighting over a bowl of tomatoes with a particularly wild looking dwarf who had an axe producing from his head. After a brief struggle the dwarf managed to pry Bilbo's fingers individually from the bowl and ran off with his prize.

"Excuse me? Do you have a map I could borrow?" I asked politely. The little hobbit was so upset that I had to repeat myself three times before he finally heard me. And when he did he gaped at me incredulously as if I'd asked for a live cow.

"A map?" he echoed, eyebrows threatening to disappear into his scalp, "Why do you need a-"He stopped, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his noise. He took several deep shaky breaths, then abruptly turned to a desk by the wall, yanked open a draw, pulled out a handful of papers, and thrust them unceremoniously into my arms.

"_There_," he hissed. Then his eyes widened as something caught his attention on the other side of the room and he was of again, shouting, "_Excuse me_! That is a _doily_, not a dishcloth!"

I returned to my corner, settled myself down and proceeded to examine the maps.

The first one I unfolded appeared to be a map of the Shire, which was no help at all. As far as I could tell, this could be anywhere in Great Brittan, although I didn't recognize any of the odd sounding names written down in thin slanted handwriting. _Maybe they're Welsh._

The second was even less helpful. It was obviously on a larger scale, but there were mountains stretching from north to south straight down the middle that didn't coincide with any place I knew. I traced them out with my finger, marveling in the thick texture of the parchment, thicker than anything we used at Hogwarts. If I didn't know better, I would say that this map was conjured from someone's imagination. There was no way it was accurate.

I was about to find Bilbo again, this time to ask for a _real_ map, when something caught my eye. On the left hand side of the map, in the north-west, in _tiny_ handwriting, was a name that caught my attention. _Shire_.

I grabbed the first map again, nearly tearing it in my haste, and laid it flat on the floor next to the second. Map number one had a forest, presumably the one I'd been zapped to, that stretched beyond the east boarder. _The Old Forest,_ the map read. I squinted at the second map and sure enough, amidst the hills and rivers, there it was. The same forest. If I looked closer I could even make out the small village of Hobbiton.

Something clicked in my brain at that moment, pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place. _The stars_. They were too different for England. Hell, they were too different for _Earth_. A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to burst from my lips. Suddenly it seemed so obvious, so clear. It had been staring me in the face the whole time but I'd been too wrapped up in my own thoughts to see the truth, too distracted to read the signs_. No wonder_ Gandalf hadn't recognized the capital of England when I'd mentioned it!

_Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down!_ My brain pleaded. _This simply isn't possible! Traveling by portkey or apparating is one thing, but to a different world entirely? It's never been done before!_

"Excuse me, Miss?" I jumped at the sudden interruption. I'd been so absorbed by this new discovery that I hadn't noticed one of the dwarves approaching. _Dammit Cass, you really _are _out of shape. _I looked up to see the short man smiling apologetically. He was slightly smaller than the other dwarves and definitely younger, with a surprisingly smooth face and less facial hair. He clutched a hobbit-sized mug to his chest. When I'd recovered from my initial shock he handed me the cup.

"Um…thanks," I said. "And please just call me Cassie." I took a sniff at the steaming liquid. "What is this?"

"It's tea," the dwarf replied. He watched me as I took a sip.

The tea was good and had a hint of cinnamon to it. On an average day it would be exactly what I needed to calm my nerves. Unfortunately for me today had been far from average and I was in need of something stronger.

"On second thoughts," I said before the dwarf could turn away, "Is there any alcohol left?"

The dwarf looked surprised. "There's a barrel of bear that we haven't finished yet, Miss."

I pushed myself to my feet. "That will do perfectly. And don't call me Miss."

oooOOOooo

A few minutes later the dwarf, who introduced himself as Ori, had settled me down at the table with a pint of beer. He was now sitting opposite me and was watching with a worried expression on his face as I knocked back my drink. _What the hell's his problem?_ I thought irritably. _Hasn't he ever seen a girl drink before?_

I finished the beer in a few quick gulps and slammed the pint back down on the table. "Again," I said, gesturing to the dwarf.

Ori hastily obliged, giving me a refill.

"Well I never!" the dwarf sitting beside me cried as he thumped me on the back, knocking me forwards into the table, "The lass knows how to drink lads!" He bowed his head in my direction. "Dwalin, at your service, my Lady." Bald and heavily tattooed, the dwarf was built like a warrior.

I groaned. "Please, just call me Cassie. I'm not a Lady."

I took another gulp of beer. The sooner I was properly drunk, the better. I didn't want to think about my current condition any more than necessary and I had it on good authority that getting wasted was one way to go about it. Of course, I'd never personally tested that theory before, but now was a good a time to start as any. I quickly finished my second pint and was about to get started on my third when it was suddenly snatched from my hands.

"Hey!" I looked up angrily only to be met with Gandalf's disapproving gaze. He seemed to have guessed my plan and was holding my drink firmly on the table in front of him, out of my reach.

I glared at him. "Not fair," I muttered under my breath, but seeing the wisdom in his action. While the prospect of getting drunk was incredibly tempting, it would not solve my problems. If anything it would probably only loosen my tongue and have me saying something we'd both regret. Better to stay sober.

Well, _soberer, _I thought as the effects of the first two drinks finally started to hit me. I clutched the small table, suddenly feeling a little woozy.

Gandalf shook his head and stopped a passing dwarf. "Would you please fetch a glass of water for Miss Morgan? She is feeling a little unwell." The dwarf nodded and disappeared.

"Just Cassie," I mumbled. A moment later a glass of water was thrust into my hands and I guzzled it down. It helped clear my head a little but the room was still spinning when I'd finished. I was having a hard time focusing on the dwarves around me as they started cleaning up the mess they'd made. Ori excused himself and went to find Bilbo to ask him about a plate.

I was just thinking that now would be a good time to find a quiet place to lie down for the night when the dwarves all broke into a song, clapping and stamping along to the beat:

"_Blunt the knives and bend the forks!_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!_

_Chip the glasses and crack the plates!_

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"_

I groaned, clutching my head as they started to clang the cutlery together, using whatever items they were holding in their hands to mark the tempo, getting louder and louder as the beat escalated. Some of them had even extracted instruments from god-knows-where and where improvising a tune. My head was pounding. Dirty dishes began to fly to and fro, miraculously staying intact as the dwarves threw them to one another, adding to the mayhem.

"_Cut the cloth and tread the fat!_

_Leave the bones on the bathroom mat!_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor!_

_Splash the wine on every door!"_

The only person who seemed to be enjoying this performance even less than me was the hobbit who was getting paler and paler with every new verse. He looked just about ready to faint. "_Excuse me!_" he squeaked, somehow managing to make himself heard over the racket, "That's my mother's pottery! It's over a hundred years old!" But the dwarves only laughed and carried on with their song:

"_Dump the corks in a boiling bowl!_

_Bound them up with a thumping pole!_

_And when you're finished, if any are whole,_

_Send them down the hall to role!"_

I had to admit it was rather impressive. The dwarves had obviously never played the song before but were somehow able to stay in tune with one another. If I wasn't feeling so shitty I probably would have tried to join in. As it were I was extremely grateful when the last shout of "_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates" _finally rang out, drawing an end to the song.

The dwarves all laughed loudly at the hobbit's expense when he finally calmed down enough to see that none of his precious silverware had been blunted and that the plates were all still intact. Not only that but the mess had been cleared away and there was a large pile of clean dishes at the head of the table. Bloody impressive.

Their laughter was cut short however when a loud, echoing knock sounded at the door. The dwarves immediately sobered up and, for the first time since we had arrived, silence fell.

Bilbo looked almost as surprised as I felt. I met his questioning gaze and shrugged helplessly. I hadn't been aware that we were still waiting for someone to arrive. I glanced at Gandalf who was exchanging a meaningful look with the oldest dwarf in the room. _Anyone care to explain what's going on?_

"He is here," the old man said quietly.

The dwarves all moved as one, sweeping us along as they marched to the front door. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see that Gandalf was holding me back. The old man waited until we were alone before leaning in and speaking urgently. "Be very careful when you speak to him. No, don't interrupt me," he said sternly when I opened my mouth to argue. "Do not be disrespectful and try to stay out of sight until I have made the proper introductions. Do you understand me?"

I nodded in bewilderment, unsure of what else to do. My head was still swimming slightly. Gandalf squeezed my shoulder reassuringly and swept off after the dwarves, who seemed to be waiting for him to open the door.

After a second I followed, feeling utterly defenseless and wishing not for the first or the last time that my wand was still in my right pocket.


	4. An Audience With the King

**An Audience with the King**

I arrived just in time to see the front door swing open, narrowly avoiding hitting my head on the low beams in my haste to get there in time. With Gandalf's warning in mind, I stayed in retreat and surveyed the scene from a distance, which was not as difficult as it sounds since that I was taller than almost everyone in the room, and therefore had no trouble whatsoever checking out the newcomer.

He was, as I had expected, a dwarf. His thick black hair was unbraided and streaked with grey, falling down at shoulder-length. The moment the door opened, he slowly turned to face us. There was something intimidating about the way his dark eyes scanned the room, searching everyone's face until he finally found who he was looking for.

His gaze softened somewhat as he found Gandalf standing behind the door. A small smile played at his lips. "Gandalf," he said in a deep voice, stepping over the threshold, "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice. I would not have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

The dwarves bowed their heads in greeting as the newcomer unfastened his cloak and swept it from his shoulders. I bobbed my head as well, not wanting to stand out but completely at a loss at what else was expected from me. The newcomer was obviously someone of importance amongst the dwarven community and he radiated pride with every step. I settled for standing completely still, hoping that I would pass unnoticed until Gandalf chose to introduce me.

"A mark?" Bilbo exclaimed as he pushed his way past the dwarves. "There's no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago!"

"There _is_ a mark," Gandalf insisted firmly, pushing the door closed before the little hobbit could get a closer look, "I put it there myself." He caught sight of the newcomer's inquisitive stare and hurried on. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce to you the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation as the newcomer bore down on him, dark eyes scanning over his small person. "So," Thorin said. "This is the hobbit." His tone suggested that he was not impressed. "Tell me mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

Bilbo started to answer but Thorin cut across him: "Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?" Several of the dwarves chuckled and I could see why. The hobbit had clearly never held a weapon in his life.

Nevertheless Bilbo refused to let Thorin stare him down as he drew himself up to his full height and said: "Well, I have some skill at conkers, if you must know. But I fail to see why that's relevant."

Thorin did not look amused. "Thought as much," he said, turning to the band of dwarves. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." Laughter greeted his comment and Bilbo shifted uncomfortably.

I would have felt sorry for him, but at that moment Thorin's gaze swept over to where I was trying to blend into the background.

"What's this?" He stepped forwards and the dwarves parted to let him through. He looked accusingly over his shoulder to where Gandalf was standing. "You didn't tell me you were bringing company."

I cleared my throat, drawing his attention back to me. I could see Gandalf wincing in the background. "Hello," I said, willing myself to hold his gaze. I thrust out my hand. "I'm Cassie. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Thorin glanced down at my hand, clearly confused. There was an awkward silence and I lowered my hand, blushing. _New world, new social rules. _Apparently handshakes didn't mean squat over here.

Gandalf jumped to the rescue. "Cassie is a friend of mine." He came to rest a hand on my shoulder. "She has traveled very far in order to be with us tonight." I frowned at this. _What is he doing_? He was making it sound as if I had planned to be here.

Thorin did not look convinced. "Really?" His dark eyes bore into mine, somehow managing to make me feel very small. "What is the name of your city?"

The dwarves looked at me expectantly. They had all been ready to take Gandalf's word on my account when the evening had begun, but now that their leader was back and clearly suspicious, they wanted answers. _Hoo boy_.

"Oh, you would not have heard of it," Gandalf said airily. "It is a very small village in the north that goes by the name of London." I almost laughed at that. Almost.

"But what is she doing _here_?"

_That's a very good question. What _am _I doing here old man_?

"Well," Gandalf said brightly, "as we were journeying to mister Baggins' home, Cassie graciously offered to assist us on our quest. I believe that she would make a valuable addition to the company."

_Wait, what?_ I gaped at him. _What the hell is he talking about?_

I probably would have voiced my protests if Gandalf hadn't given me a look that clearly said, _be quite and let me finish._ I opened my mouth, ready to give him a piece of my mind but Thorin beat me to it.

"You cannot be serious." He looked at me with distaste. "A _woman_?"

_Oh no. You did _not_ just say that._

_ "Excuse _me?" Anger flared up inside me as I stepped forwards, towering over the dwarf. I wasn't sure who it was directed at exactly, Mr. Macho or the old geezer who'd set me up, but someone was gonna _burn._ "I'll have you know that I can kick ass just as well as any of your _buddies_ over there." Thorin seemed taken aback by my outburst, but I wasn't done yet. "If you have a problem with my gender then say it to my face you arrogant _prick_! As for _you_." I spun to face Gandalf, who was pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained expression on his face. "I need to talk to you. Outside. _Now._"

oooOOOooo

"Well, you made quite the first impression," Gandalf said as he closed the round door behind us.

"He started it," I muttered. The effects of the alcohol were starting to wear off and I rubbed my temples against the headache threatening behind my eyelids.

"But you certainly finished it." He came to stand beside me.

"Yeah, well I hate it when men pull that kind of crap." I glared at him. "And speaking of crap, what the _hell_ was that back there? I only came for the free meal. You never said anything about joining a bloody quest! What are you trying to force me into?"

"I am not trying to force you into anything. I am merely suggesting that accompanying us on our journey may be in your best interest."

"_Really_? And how did you come to that conclusion?"

Gandalf sighed patiently. "I have told you once before that you cannot hope to fool me. I have been watching you closely throughout the evening and it has become clear to me that you are not _just_ a mere traveler from a distant land. The truth is far more complex than that, is it not?"

I ground my teeth in frustration. _So much for humoring me_. The old man had just been binding his time, waiting for the right moment to start drilling me with questions. And what could I tell him? What could I possibly say that wouldn't pass me off as a nut job? "None of your business."

"I am making it my business young lady." He drew out a clay pipe from the inside of his robes. "You appear to be as ignorant of your whereabouts as I am of this London you hail from." He lit the end of the pipe with a quick motion of his fingers. I blinked. What had he just done?

He spoke again before I could question him about it: "You seemed to be less than impressed by the maps Bilbo gave to you."

I flushed. I hadn't been aware that he'd witnessed my little brake-down_. How embarrassing_. "Look, I know I'm being really vague but…" I sighed in defeat, "Truth is you wouldn't believe my story. Hell, I'm still not sure _I _believe it."

Gandalf waited patiently for me to go on. He drew a long breath from his pipe and blew out a perfect smoke-ring. I watched as it floated away into the night. After a minute I spoke again:

"Where are we exactly? And don't say _the Shire_, I got that already. What country are we in?" _What world?_

The old man gave me a long, thoughtful look. "Eriador," he said eventually. When the name bore no hint of recognition he raised a bushy eyebrow and added, "Middle-earth."

I gave a shaky laugh. "See, I come from plain old Earth and I haven't the faintest idea how I got here. One minute I was walking home from work in London, then I got hit by…a vehicle," I faltered but pressed on before he took notice, "and I got zapped to the middle of a forest." I sighed hopelessly. "And I don't know how to get back."

I closed my eyes and waited for him to scoff, to tell me that the whole thing was ridiculous and that I was obviously insane. There was a long silence. Gandalf finally cleared his throat and I braced myself.

"Well," he said matter-of-factly, "I can see how that must have been confusing for you."

_Okay, not quite the reaction I was expecting._ I looked at the old man in surprise. "You don't think I'm lying?"

"Should I? You have not yet given me reason to believe that you are not trust-worthy." His tone became more urgent. "Being the first to cross your path has left me with a sense of responsibility towards you. Therefore I urge you to reconsider my offer. Granted, our quest will not be easily achieved and there will many perils to face on the way," he leant closer, "but I am offering you somewhere to _be_. If we leave without you tomorrow morning, you will be alone."

My chest tightened. I blinked furiously against the angry tears threatening to well up in my eyes. I wanted to shout at the old man, to scream that I didn't want or _need_ his help. Who the hell did he think he was, deciding what was best for me? I'd always managed by myself. But looking up I saw the stars twinkling innocently in the sky above and I knew deep down that he was right. This wasn't something I could solve by myself. It was too big for me. I needed help.

But that wasn't all. There was another emotion brewing inside me. Something I hadn't been able to feel since the war had ended. Anticipation. I'd felt more alive in these past twelve hours than I'd had for over six months.

And I'd be damned if I was letting it slip away that easily.

I released a long breath I hadn't been aware I was holding and turned to face Gandalf's waiting gaze. "Tell me more about this quest."

oooOOOooo

By the time we returned to the kitchen Gandalf had filled me in on most of the details. Turned out that the dwarf I'd insulted _was_ important. He was a freakin' _king_. And I thought my day couldn't get any worse.

The reason Thorin Oakenshield was currently camping out with twelve other dwarves in Bilbo's hobbit-hole was simple: They were embarking on a journey to the Lonely Mountain (wherever the hell _that _was) to reclaim their kingdom (Erebor) from an evil dragon named Smaug, and they needed the hobbit to come with them so that he could, I dunno, clean their dirty laundry and cook them dinner I suppose.

"Now then, my dear," Gandalf reprimanded when I expressed my skepticism, "Mister Baggins has much to offer us. Hobbits can move without sound if they choose to and Smaug it not accustomed to their sent, which will give us a distinct advantage when we arrive at his lair. We will be glad to have brought him along by the time we are through."

"And does Mister Baggins know that you plan to drag him along?" Call me crazy, but judging by the shocked expression on the hobbit's face when he'd opened the door to us earlier this evening, I doubted it.

"It will take some persuading but rest assured; he will come around. He _is _part Took after all and I am certain that a taste of adventure is precisely what he needs."

"If you say so." I tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but if the road ahead was as dangerous as the old man was making it sound then the little guy wouldn't last three days.

Gandalf clapped his hands. "I think all that remains to be done now is to persuade Thorin of your usefulness to our quest. Do you possess any skills that might help us do that?" He caught my blank look. "Can you sew?"

I snorted. "No, and I can't cook either. Some _woman_ I make, huh?"

The old man was not discouraged. "You mentioned going home from work before you were brought to our land. What is your trade?"

I shrugged. "I work in Mr. Mulpepper's apothecary in Diagon alley. We sell herbs to potioneers."

This seemed to interest him. "So you are able to recognize basic medicinal herbs? Can you dress a wound?"

"Yes." We had learnt about healing potions and their uses with professor Snape, our potions master at Hogwarts, and despite his hatred for the student body in general it was a subject in which I had aced. After the Ministry had fallen to the hands of You-know-who and muggle-borns were being hunted throughout the country, the knowledge of edible plants and medicinal herbs had made the difference between life and death for me.

Gandalf clapped me on the back. "Thorin will see the benefit in that!" he said cheerfully. "Now, I think we have kept them waiting long enough don't you? Let us return to the gathering."

In the kitchen the dwarves had seated themselves around the table, Thorin at its head. Bilbo was perched on a stool close by and seemed relieved to see us return. The dwarves were obviously putting him on edge. I couldn't blame him. The tense atmosphere at the table was almost palpable as the king discussed a meeting with his kin that he had just returned from. Apparently, they had refused to help in his quest to reclaim Erebor. The news was greeted with a chorus of groans from the dwarves seated around the table. Thorin nodded to Gandalf as we entered the room and pointed to his left hand side, inviting him to sit. He ignored me completely. _Crap_. Gandalf's word may have a lot of influence over the company but it was Thorin that I really needed to convince if I wanted in on the quest. I had a feeling that if a simple _no_ from the dwarf king would be enough to force me to stay behind. It was essential that I at least _appear_ humbled, even if I still felt miffed by his sexist comment from earlier.

"A quest?" Bilbo piped up as we sat down (the dwarves scooted over to give us room). "You're going on a quest?" I raised my eyebrows at Gandalf. The hobbit really didn't have a clue.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow," the old man said. "Let us have a little more light."

When the hobbit returned with a lamp Gandalf launched into pretty much the same story he had told me outside, pulling out a map to show the location of the mountain. Then one of the dwarves, I think his name was Gloin, started rattling on about how all the signs were in place. Something about birds flying back to the mountains and '_the reign of the beast arriving at an end_'. It all sounded wonderfully cryptic and about as reliable as one of professor Trelawney's predictions.

At that point I zoned out as the company started to debate the likeliness of their success against Smaug. I began to make a mental list of what I knew about dragons from my classes. The only time I'd ever gotten close to one was during my fourth year when the Triwizard Tournament had taken place at Hogwarts, during which three renowned magical schools (Hogwarts, Beauxbatons academy and Durmstrang institute) had each elected a champion to represent them in a series of tasks. The first task had consisted in stealing a golden egg from a dragon. The task had been closely monitored by professional dragon trainers, so there had been no _real_ danger, but the image of the deadly creatures was seared into my memory. And I was planning to help kill one. _I must really have a death wish_.

It was only when one of the younger looking dwarves exclaimed: "And you forget we have a wizard in our company! Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!", that I snapped back to the present. _What? _

The dwarves looked at Gandalf expectantly. The old man coughed uncomfortably and said: "Oh, now, I – I wouldn't say that –"

"How many then?" one of the dwarves interrupted. "How many dragons have you killed?"

When Gandalf looked embarrassed, the whole table went into uproar, every dwarf simultaneously leaping to his feet to argue. It was only when Thorin himself joined the commotion, drowning out every other voice with his own, that things quieted down. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?" The king's eyes swept over the dwarves, who were hanging onto his every word.

I had lost interest, however. As Thorin continued his speech, I leant closer to Gandalf and hissed, "You're a _wizard?_" I don't know why I was annoyed; I should have been thrilled. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I had suspected there was more to the friendly old man that met the eye but hadn't been able to figure out _what._

Gandalf looked down at me with an amused expression on his face. "Indeed," he said simply, eyes twinkling. "One of five."

_Only five?_ That struck me as a little odd. Surly there was more than five wizards in this world? "What about…witches?" I whispered.

I suddenly became aware that the table had gone silent. The king had stopped talking and was fixing me with a cold stare. I must have spoken louder than I'd thought. _Oops. _Well, at least he wasn't ignoring me anymore.

"What is this talk about witches?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry. I just wanted to know how many witches there were in Middle-earth. I mean," I looked questioningly at Gandalf, "are they as few in number as wizards?"

"Fewer," Thorin answered before the old man could. "And for good reason. Their magic is drawn from the darkest recesses of human nature and corrupts the heart until there is nothing left but evil. They are a bane to our world."

I gaped at him, too shocked to do anything more than gawp. _What the hell? _Wizards got away with performing magic in Middle-earth but witches were accused of malevolence? How medieval was _that_? A wave of heat rushed to my face and I flushed angrily.

Thorin seemed oblivious to my outrage and asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Now may I return to the subject at hand?"

I would have liked nothing more than to hex him into oblivion, but a small voice in my head urged me to be cautious. I needed to win him over. I had already insulted him once and I couldn't afford another strike, not unless I wanted to be left behind. Besides, without my wand there was very little I could do to him.

Clenching my jaw so hard it hurt, I forced a smile on my lips and nodded stiffly. Thorin held my gaze for a few more seconds before he was satisfied and then returned to his speech. I felt Gandalf breathe a small sigh of relief beside me as everyone's attention was dawn back to the king.

"You forget that the front gate is sealed," a white-bearded dwarf said as soon as Thorin was finished. "There is no way into the mountain."

Gandalf stirred, producing a silver key from his robes. "That, my dear Balin is not entirely true." He held it out for everyone to see, then explained how Thorin's father had given him the key for safekeeping and that he was now giving it back to its rightful owner. Thorin seemed lost for words as the old wizard pressed the silver object into his hand and for a second, I forgot to be angry at him. This obviously meant a big deal to him.

"If there is a key," a blond dwarf said, spoiling the moment, "then there must be a door!"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I muttered sarcastically. Luckily, Thorin was still too mesmerized by his new found heirloom to pick up on my comment and my little slipup passed unnoticed.

Gandalf went on to explaining that the map had a hidden message that would reveal the entrance to a secret door on the side of the mountain. The only problem was that dwarf doors were invisible and therefore very hard to find. "The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage." His eyes darted to Bilbo who was hovering nearby before continuing. "But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" exclaimed Ori.

"And a good one too," Bilbo was leaning over the map, still painfully oblivious. "An expert I'd imagine."

I rolled my eyes. "He means _you_, you nitwit!"

Bilbo glanced up and his mouth dropped open. I could almost hear the _click_ in his head as he finally caught on. "Me? Oh no, no, no, I'm not a burglar! I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

"I'm afraid I have to agree with mister Baggins," Balin said. "He's hardly burglar material."

"Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," said Dwalin. "And that goes for the lass as well." There was a murmur of agreement around the table.

"Hey, don't drag me into this!" I scowled at Dwalin. "I can take care of myself!"

Once more, the table erupted into shouts as the dwarves started arguing. This time I joined my voice to the fray, determined to have my say in the matter. I was from the twenty-first century, dammit, and I sure as _heck_ wasn't just going to sit there quietly whist the men discussed my fate.

Suddenly a tremendous rumbling shook the kitchen and Gandalf stood, towering over everyone and looking severely pissed. In that instant, he looked nothing like the kindly old man who'd offered me his help on Bilbo's front door. In his place stood a terrifying and powerful wizard, and when he spoke his voiced boomed across the room, shocking us into silence. "Enough! If I say that Bilbo and Cassie are to accompany us on the morrow, then they shall." And just like that, the power drained from his body and he was the old man again. "They both have a great deal to offer us. Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet and can pass unseen by most if they choose. As for Cassie, she is well versed in the art of healing and has already assured me of her skill in battle."

Okay, that was stretching it a bit_._ Well versed in the art of healing? I was an apothecarist's assistant, for crying out loud!_ And where the hell did he hear that I was any good in a battle?_ Oh, right. When he'd been asking about the war I'd said that I knew how to defend myself. But what he didn't know was that I'd meant with a wand. I knew nothing about muggle fighting, and should probably set the record straight before they all got the wrong idea.

Thorin gave me a contemptuous look. "You cannot be serious. I doubt this woman knows the first thing about swordplay."

Okay, screw it. The haughty dwarf was really pissing me off. Before I could stop myself, I glared at him and retorted: "Stick 'em with the pointy end."

There was a surprised silence. Just as I was wondering if I'd crossed a line the hush was broken by a loud snort from Dwalin. "Aye, that's the gist of it, lassie!" He thumped me heavily on the back. "The girl has spirit lads! I say she comes!"

Gandalf spoke softly, looking intently at the king. "You must trust me on this."

Thorin's expression remained stoic. I twisted my fingers nervously as the seconds ticked by. After what seemed like an eternity the king finally spoke. "Very well. We will do it your way." Ignoring the hobbit's protests he turned to Balin. "Give them the contracts."

The white-bearded dwarf obliged, producing two slips of heavy parchment from his pocked. "It's just the usual," he said as he handed one out to Bilbo. "Summery of our expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth." He smiled at me apologetically. "I'm afraid I only have one example of the contract with me. We weren't expecting to recruit anyone else besides our burglar. But if you give me a minute, I will have a second contract written out for you in no time." He accepted a quill from the dwarf sitting next to him, dipped it in an ink bottle that he had extracted from his pocket, and began scribbling furiously.

Thorin held up his hand, his gaze boring into mine. "In signing this contract you accept full responsibility for any injury you may obtain in the course of our journey. Do not expect any special treatment from us on account of your gender; you will be treated no differently from any other dwarf of the company. If you slow us down you will be left behind. When we arrive at the dragon's lair you will receive half of the hobbit's share of gold. Do we have an agreement?"

I nodded.

A moment later I was presented with a summarized version of the contract that Bilbo was now examining in detail, muttering to himself every so often as he paced the room. I skimmed through it briefly but it reviled nothing more than what Balin had said it would. Dipping the quill in ink, I hastily signed the slip of paper and felt a small surge of victory when I was done. _Ha! Let them try to get rid of me _now_!_ I handed the contract back to Balin who squinted down at my handwriting, smiled and exclaimed: "Welcome to the company, Miss Cassie!" I grinned.

"- _Lacerations_." Bilbo was squinting at his own contract. "…Eviscerations?" He glanced up, his face the picture of incredulity. "_Incineration?" _He shot me a panicked look, obviously wondering why I wasn't more upset.

"Oh, aye," said Bofur. "They'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye."

The hobbit paled. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.

Bofur had a wicked glint in his eyes as he rose to his feet. "Think furnace with wings. Flash of light, searing pain, then _poof,_" he made a gesture with his pipe, "you're nothing more but a pile of ash!"

To give Bilbo credit, he seemed to be rapidly recovering from his brief spell of panic. He straightened up, blinked, took a deep breath…and collapsed. It appeared that the little hobbit had finally reached his limit.

"Oh, _very_ helpful, Bofur," I muttered as we scrambled to our feet.


	5. Half-Truths

**Half-Truths **

Half an hour later, we were a burglar short. After Mister Baggins had recovered from his fainting fit and had been presented with a steaming mug of tea, he had hastily explained that he couldn't be expected to go running off into the blue and that we'd got the wrong hobbit for the job. He had then retreated to the safety of his bedroom, where he would no doubt remain until we had all disappeared the following morning.

The news was met with different degrees of resignation amongst the dwarves, who had all wandered off in bands of twos and threes once the meeting was done. Some felt a little miffed to be abandoned by the hobbit, whilst others expressed relief that he had chosen to stay behind. I couldn't blame them. The road ahead was going to be dangerous enough as it was without having to constantly check how Bilbo was holding up.

Which reminded me that I had a big problem on my hands: Thorin had accepted me into the company under the assumption that I could fight, and as soon as he found out that wasn't true, he would be the first to kick my ass back to Bag End. I had never held a muggle weapon in my life, and it was just now dawning on me that I had embarked on a quest to kill a dragon without my wand. Without any way to defend myself.

_Holy shit, what the hell was I _thinking_?_

The other thing that was bugging me was the king's none-too-subtle aversion to witches. If female magic practitioners were regarded as suspiciously in this world as they had been during the middle-ages back on Earth, then I had to find something other than spells and curses to defend myself with.

_Of course, _I thought bitterly, _that won't be _too _much of a problem seeing as you can't cast either at the moment. _But in a situation where I was either forced to reveal my magic for all to see or roll over and die, I'd rather be able to cast at least a minor spell. A stunner perhaps, maybe even a disarming spell. I knew that technically, it was possible for a very advanced wizard to perform wandless magic; Professor Dumbledore himself had been famous for it. But I was nowhere _near_ as experienced as he was.

_What about young children who haven't received their letters from Hogwarts yet? _They _perform wandless magic all the time!_

Yes, but in their cases it was often accidental, influenced by emotions such as rage, terror or surprise.

I remembered that my first burst of power had manifested itself when I was eight years old. My muggle neighbor, Derek Campbell, had successfully trapped me in a corner of the park with a band of other kids. In a moment of blind panic I had shoved him in the chest and sent him flying twenty feet backwards, almost snapping his neck in the process. I can still recall my mother praising me, patting me on the head and telling me how _proud_ she was, never once expressing concern for the muggle boy I'd almost killed. Of course, I hadn't been aware of what had happened at the time, and the enemies I would be facing on this quest were going to be far deadlier than playground bullies. I needed my magic to be stable, reliable. And for that to happen, I needed practice.

Excusing myself, I left Ori in the kitchen and went in search of an empty room. It wasn't too long before I found what I was looking for, and I barricaded myself inside.

"Alrighty then," I muttered, cracking my knuckles, "Let's get this show on the road."

oooOOOooo

I cannot begin to explain just how frustrating the next hour and a half was. At first I tried closing my eyes and casting non-verbally. When it became clear that it wasn't working, I switched to muttering the incantations under my breath, miming the wand movements with my empty hands. Nothing. I twitched and twirled my fingers, the gestures getting harsher and harsher as my patience thinned. Not even a spark. At last I threw my arms up in defeat and went to see if I could find someone to lend me a weapon. At least I wouldn't be _completely _defenseless, not if I could help it.

The first people I stumbled across were two younger looking dwarves sitting cross legged in the hall. They glanced up as I approached. One was blond and had a braided mustache (_seriously_, what was the deal with dwarves and their wacky braids?) and I immediately recognized him as the dwarf who had made that obvious statement about the existence of a back door into the mountain at the table earlier. The other had a dark mane and had no facial hair. They shared a few common traits however, so I assumed that they must be related.

"Hi," I said. "Sorry, but I didn't catch your names earlier."

The blond dwarf grinned. "That's quite all right, Miss." He pointed to himself. "I'm Fili."

"And I'm his brother Kili," the black-haired dwarf finished.

"At your service," they said in union, tipping their heads.

My frustration was starting to ebb away. "Nice to meet you both. And please just call me Cassie. Or Cass. I don't really care." I plopped down on the floor beside them. "Sorry to bust in on you like this, but do you have any extra knives or something that I could borrow for our journey? I...forgot mine at home." I tried to look sheepish.

Fili raised his eyebrows. "You came all this way unarmed?"

I shrugged. "What can I say? I love to be reckless. Live dangerously_; _that's my motto."

Kili laughed. "I can sympathize with that." He grinned at his brother. "Uncle nearly had a fit when we told him that we wanted to join the quest to reclaim Erebor. He's quite protective when it comes to the family" He jumped swiftly to his feet. "I think I must have an extra dagger or two lying around. I'll go see if I can find them." He walked away, leaving me with his brother. There was an awkward silence.

I cleared my throat. "So. Who's your uncle? Is he part of the company?"

Fili looked amused. "He's the _leader_ of the company."

I blinked, letting it sink in. "Wait, _Thorin_'s your uncle?" I tried to imagine the sullen king expressing concern for his beloved nephews. It wasn't easy. "Hang on a minute; doesn't that make you royalty or something?"

He nodded. "I am next in line to the throne. Uncle has no progenies of his own." I was spared from further embarrassment when Kili returned, holding a long object in his hand.

"Here," the dark-haired dwarf said as he handed me the dagger. "Will this serve?"

I accepted the knife with murmured thanks and pulled it from its sheath. It was longer than I'd anticipated, more like a short sword, simple-looking and sharpened on both sides. This was the first time I'd held any other blade besides the usual appliances used in potion making, and I couldn't prevent a little shiver of nervousness from creeping down my spine as I envisioned stabbing something with it.

Kili was watching me closely, obviously waiting for me to say something.

I swallowed. "Yep, this'll do. It's good, um… steel," I stammered, trying not to appear a complete novice at this. I ran my thumb down the side of the blade and winced when I cut my self. _Idiot._ "Nice and sharp," I concluded flashing the brothers a grin. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome." Kili hesitated, and then asked, "Have you done much fighting?" The two dwarves looked at me curiously. _Oops. Here come the awkward questions. _

"Yeah, I have." I fidgeted, wondering how much I could give away whilst still appearing credible. I struggled to remember the maps Bilbo had given me. "You know how Gandalf said I was from the north?" They nodded. "Well, I come from an island over the sea. It's called England. Have you heard of it?"

I waited for them to shake their heads before continuing. "That doesn't surprise me; not many people have. That's why our customs are a little different from yours; we don't get many visitors." I gestured down at my ripped jeans, illustrating my point. "Anyway, we had a…civil war a couple of months back. Some bastard raised an army and took over the island. I was part of the resistance, so…yeah, lots of fighting."

Fili looked skeptical. "I have not heard of this war. What is the name of this man?"

"You-know-who," I replied automatically, and then mentally cursed my foolishness. The brothers raised their eyebrows quizzically.

"We don't say his name," I explained. "He scared the living daylight out of a lot of people and it's considered bad luck. Pretty pathetic, I know, but," I shrugged, "old habits die hard."

I changed the subject: "What about you? Done much fighting lately?"

This was obviously the right question to ask. The brothers launched into battle stories of their own and I was able to relax, leaning against the wall, content in just listening. They spoke of names and places that I'd never heard of, describing with enthusiasm the different conflicts in which they had taken part. There were many of them. These dwarves were clearly seasoned fighters. From time to time they would mention a name I recognized (another dwarf from the company) and I would ask them to stop and to explain exactly who was who. That was how I learnt that Balin and Dwalin were brothers, as were Oin and Gloin. Dori, Nori and Ori were also siblings, and the same went for Bombur and Bofur (Bifur was their cousin). By the time they were done enumerating all the names and family ties, my head was spinning.

Eventually, the conversation turned back to the quest. "What kind of dragon is Smaug?" I wanted to know.

"A timorous beast. He is considered to be the chiefest calamity of our age and-"

I cut across Fili, waving my hand. "I know _that. _I meant what breed is he? Is he a Horntail?" God, I hoped not. Those things were nasty. "An Ironbelly? He likes the mountains, right? Is he a Short-Snout, or…?" I trailed off when I noticed that the brothers were trading bewildered looks. "What?" What had I said _now_?

Kili snorted, still looking bemused. "I must say, you are one of the _oddest_ women I have ever met. '_What breed is he?'_ He's a dragon! What more do you need to know?" He grinned at his brother, obviously chalking my fumble up to the fact that I was a foreigner. Fili did not look as convinced and he gazed at me suspiciously.

Thankfully, Ori chose that moment to appear. "Come on," he whispered, waving at us to follow. He waited until we had risen to our feet and hurried away down the corridor. We followed. I grasped my short sword nervously, wondering what was going on.

As we emerged into what I assumed was the living room, a faint humming reached my ears. Someone had lit a fire and it was crackling merrily in the hearth, throwing ominous shadows across the floor. The dwarves had all assembled and were dispatched throughout the room, watching their leader as he stared into the flames. Fili and Kili went to sit besides Dwalin, but I remained in retreat by the door, observing the scene. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Suddenly, Thorin began to sing:

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To find our long forgotten gold_

One by one the dwarves stood, joining their voices to the king's. Soon, they were all singing, their faces a mask of longing. The song sent a pang of sadness in trough my heart and suddenly, I felt exposed. I knew that look of yearning carved on each of their faces. I had seen it on so many others, so many Muggle-borns huddled in the darkness, desperate for only one thing: To go _home_.

As the song took on a more melancholy note, I slowly backed away, feeling like an intruder. This moment wasn't meant for me and I had no right to witness their shared sorrow. I suddenly realized that it didn't matter how much I tried to fit in, I could never share that kind of bond with them. The dwarves had fought, lost and grieved their home together. A signed slip of paper couldn't make me a part their comradeship, just a useful associate. I didn't belong here, just as I hadn't belonged with the muggle-borns during the war.

_The pines were roaring on the height,_

_The winds were moaning in the night._

_The fire was red, it flaming spread;_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

The song ended and I paused. Thorin's gaze was still lost in the flames, probably reliving the dragon's attack. Smaug had taken everything from the dwarves and they longed for vengeance. I could relate to that.

Suddenly, the king looked up from the hearth and our eyes met. I don't know what he saw in my expression - maybe a reflection of his own anger - but in that instant he _saw_ me. My loss, my pain, my _longing_. I quickly tore my gaze away, abruptly self-conscious.

And all of a sudden, the spell was broken. The dwarves seemed to shake themselves from their stupor, and one by one they left to prepare for tomorrow's departure.

I fled from the room.

oooOOOooo

That night when everyone was asleep, I lay tossing and turning in my make-shift bed of blankets in the living room. The dwarves were scattered around on similar beds, snoring loudly, all except for Thorin who had been given the guestroom. The hobbit-hole didn't have any beds big enough to support my weight so I'd had to make do, although I probably shouldn't have bothered because try as I might, sleep refused to come. Now that there was nothing left to keep me busy, I couldn't stop my thoughts from straying home.

How long would it take for someone to realize that I had disappeared without a trace? Who would be the first to notice? Aside from my coworkers I hadn't gone out of my way to make friends. Mr. Mulpepper would certainly notice my absence tomorrow morning when I failed to show up for work, but would that be enough to start a search party? What about my mother? Would she grieve her missing daughter?

I smiled bitterly to myself. No. Elaine Morgan had made it very clear that she wanted nothing more to do with her blood-traitor daughter shortly before I turned seventeen. Things had been tense between us for a while and I'm pretty sure I would have left the house on my own accord if my mother hadn't thrown me out. It had been fourteen months since we last spoke.

It wasn't always this way. I remember a time when my mother and I used to be very close, when she was my whole world. I was a single child and my father died shortly ofter my birth which meant that Elaine raised me by herself. Growing up, she would tell me bedtime stories about my dad, the hero who had battled alongside a great and powerful wizard. She told me that my father had sacrificed everything to aid this wizard in his mission to free us from the tyranny of primitive muggles - dirty, ignorant creatures who couldn't perform magic. They had forced us into hiding long ago, but my father had valiantly fought against this injustice, and it had cost him his life.

"It was a necessary sacrifice, darling," she would say as she stoked my hair. "He died trying to make the world a better place for you. Promise me that one day you will do him proud."

I would always nod and answer, "Yes, mummy." And why wouldn't I? At such a young age children don't question their parent's ideals. We trust them to always tell us the truth. I sincerely believed that my father was a hero, to the point where he became my role model and everything I ever aspired to be.

When I turned eleven and received my Hogwarts letter Elaine had hugged me close and whispered, "I knew you had it in you, Cassiopeia. You truly are your father's daughter." I had basked in the compliment, convinced that my mother could offer me no higher praise.

The train ride to Hogwarts was a happy blur. Then came the sorting ceremony, and Professor McGonagall, the deputy headmistress, had called me forwards to sit on the four-legged stool. The old hat was placed on my head, falling in front of my eyes, obscuring my vision of the Great Hall.

"Well, well," a small voice whispered in my ear. "What have we here? Another Morgan, eh? Now, what to do with you?" I gripped the edges of the stool apprehensively and waited for the hat to make its decision. I already knew what it would be.

I knew where I belonged.

"Is that so?" the small voice asked. "Let me see… Intelligent and resourceful. You have a practical mind, yes – and ambitious to top it off, now that's interesting. How will you turn out, I wonder?"

The seconds ticked by and I started to feel nervous. Why was this taking so long?

"Patience," the hat murmured, "In a hurry are we? Or do you think this is just a formality?"

_I'm my father's daughter, _I thought, echoing my mother's words. _I belong in his house_.

"Well, in that case," the voice drawled, "I would hate to disappoint – better be…SLYTHERIN!" The last word was shouted out loud for the whole school to hear.

The table on the right erupted into cheers and the hat was pulled away from my eyes. I got up shakily and walked towards the Slytherin table, collapsing next to a blond haired boy who very formally introduced himself as Draco Malfoy.

My first year at Hogwarts passed smoothly enough. I was immediately accepted into Draco's group of friends as soon as they learnt my last name. It turned out that my father and Draco's had been very well acquainted before his death.

By the end of my last term I was surfing on a happy cloud, convinced that everything was as it should be.

And then came that fateful day at the library before my final exams.

Taking advantage of Professor Sprout's absence, I had decided that it couldn't hurt to do a few last minute revisions for my potions exam the following day and I'd left for the library early that morning. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn't noticed the sandy-haired Gryffindor boy carrying a large stack of books until we smacked into each other, knocking his books all over the floor.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" The boy – I remember his name being Seamus Finnigan – shouted indignantly.

We argued for a few minutes, being careful to keep our voices down in case the librarian came to see what all the fuss was about. It wasn't until the boy made a scornful remark about my 'good-for-nothing' father that I started to see red.

"My father was a great man," I exclaimed hotly.

Finnigan sneered. "Your father was a murdering Death Eater," he spat, and with that he turned on his heel, stepped over the pile of discarded books on the floor and marched away.

I stared at his retreating figure, clutching my schoolbag tightly against my chest like a life ring, his words echoing in my head. _Murderer_. The library spun around me and I felt winded, as if Finnigan had punched me in the gut.

_It has to be a lie_, I told myself desperately_. My dad isn't a killer_. _It's just a filthy lie._

But try as I might I couldn't chase the doubt from my mind, and before long I was back in the library, this time in search of old copies of the Daily Prophet that might help clear up the subject.

What I found shattered all illusion of my father being an honest man.

It was there, in the dusty corner of the archives that I discovered the true meaning of the word Death Eater.

And from that point on, everything changed.

oooOOOooo

A loud snort from one of the dwarves jerked me back to the present. I rolled onto my side in a futile attempt to find a more comfortable position.

_Am I dead_?

I honestly didn't know the answer to that question. I hoped not. I didn't _feel_ dead.

Tomorrow, I would be leaving with thirteen dwarves and a wizard on a quest to reclaim their homeland from a dragon. I probably should have felt more afraid, but in truth I was relieved to finally have a purpose again, a goal towards which I could strive. Yes, it was suicidal but at least it made me feel _alive_. That had to count for something.

Sighing, I lifted my fist and focused on my hand, trying to channel my magic into my palm. "_Lumos_," I muttered, willing for something to happen. Nothing. Not even the slightest twinge of power. I let my hand fall to my side and closed my eyes, smiling wrily. _Of course it wasn't going to be _that_ easy._

But no matter. I would try again tomorrow.

oooOOOooo

**Sorry if this story isn't moving along as quickly as you'd like, but I wanted to give you all a little of Cassie's backstory. Thanks to all those who left me reviews, they really made my day! Also, if you're wondering, Cassiopeia is Cassie's real name. Seeing that she's a pureblood and they all seem to have a t****endency** of naming their kids after constellations, I figured I'd just do the same ;)

**Please review!**


	6. Chamber Pots and Healing Herbs

**Enjoy the chapter and don't forget to review!**

**Chamber Pots and Healing Herbs**

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I knew I was jerked awake by the sounds of birds singing. I groaned and opened my eyes, squinting against the morning light. My back ached from lying on the hard ground. There was a time when it wouldn't have bothered me as much, but I had gotten soft since the war had ended. Still, there would be plenty of opportunities for me to get used to sleeping outdoors again on the road ahead. I rolled to my side and pushed myself into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes in the process.

The dwarves were still asleep and snoring loudly. _It's a wonder they don't wake each other up._ The wizard was nowhere to be seen.

Collecting my short sword, I silently got to my feet and went hunting for the bathroom, carefully stepping over the unconscious bodies sprawled all over the floor. Looking out of the window, I saw that the sky was still tainted with pink. It must have been very early in the morning. I couldn't have gotten more than five hours sleep.

After trying out a few doors at random I finally found the bathroom, and just as well – I was dying for a pee. Inside I found a chamber pot at my disposal. I had never used one before, and it was an interesting experience to say in the least. When I'd finished, I went to take a look in the mirror, kneeling so that I was at hobbit-height in order to see myself.

I groaned when I caught sight of my reflection for the first time since arriving in Middle-earth. I was an absolute mess. My cheeks were covered with dirt and my dark hair was a tangled mass. I fished out a twig that had probably gotten caught inside during my hike through the forest the day before, and winced as I considered what everyone must have thought of my appearance. _  
_

I was pleased to find a basin of water and a bar of soap in the corner of the room and I scrubbed at my hands and face until I was positive that no dirt remained. The next few minutes were devoted to untangling the birds nest on my head, a task which reviled to be futile. After couple more attempts of fruitless tugging, I finally admitted to myself that there was nothing to be done. I fingered a clump of hair thoughtfully, wondering what to do about it. In the long journey ahead we would constantly be on the move and I was pretty sure bathrooms would be scarce - and hair products more so. All in all, long hair would only get in the way.

_It's a good thing I never really liked my hair_, I thought as I pulled my knife from its sheath, _or this would defiantly be a pain in the ass. _Being careful not to scalp myself, I slowly sliced through my dark mane again and again, black streaks cascading onto the bathroom floor.

I examined the end result critically, running my fingers through my shortened hair. Not bad. Sure, it was a little scruffy and I couldn't see what it looked like from behind, but at least it wasn't tangled anymore. I praised myself on being practical before anything else.

I sheathed the dagger, bent down to sweep the long strands of hair off the floor and turned to face the chamber pot. What should I do with it? I couldn't exactly leave it there for the next person to find, could I? I hunted about the room to see if there was a way of disposing of my waste, but found none.

_Oh, well. I'll just have to empty it outside then._

I exited the bathroom slowly, carrying the chamber pot at arm's length. _If only I could levitate it, then at least I'd have my hands free, _I thought as I struggled to open the front door.

Finally, I was outside on the front step.

In the time I'd spent cleaning up, the sun had fully risen, bathing the shire in its early morning light. I hadn't been able to see much when I had arrived at nightfall the previous day, but I now noticed that Bilbo had a very nice view indeed. Pleasant green slopes rolled out as far as the eye could see, little doors producing here and there amongst the hills. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and flowers in bloom. If I didn't know any better I would say that I was still in the English countryside. I closed my eyes, marveling at the peaceful landscape.

Someone cleared their throat loudly, startling me out of my retrieve. I spun in the direction of the sound - chamber pot tipping dangerously - and saw that Thorin Oakenshield was sitting by the door, smoking from a long wooden pipe. I had walked straight past him without giving him a second glance. Carrying a pot full of my own pee. _Sweet Merlin._

Thorin's dark eyes were traveling over my person, from my newly shortened hair, to the chamber pot in my hands.

"Um, hi," I stammered, blotches of red appearing in my cheeks "I - er, didn't see you there." I fished around desperately for something to say. "Nice day," I finished lamely.

He didn't answer right away, taking a deep puff from his pipe before speaking. "Why are you here?"

"Well," I glanced pointedly at the pot, "I was just going to, you know…" I trailed off, hoping he wouldn't need any farther explanation. He said nothing.

Just I as was about turn away, he spoke again: "I meant, why are you _here_? Why would a woman - even one as unusual as yourself – be willing to travel so far to free a land that she has never heard of?"

I hesitated. "Gandalf said –"

"I know what the wizard said. Now I want to hear what _you_ have to say." He blew out a puff of smoke. "Why have you taken such a keen interest in our quest?"

_Crap, crap, crap_. Whatever brief understanding we had shared the previous night had long gone and the king was suspicious again. _Find something to say, quickly._ "Gandalf is a good friend of mine," I lied smoothly. "We go way back. So when our paths crossed and he told me about what you were going to attempt, I offered to help."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? And how do you two know each other, if I may ask?"

"Oh, that's a long story," I said airily. I lifted the chamber pot. "Now, if you'll excuse me…?"

He seemed less than satisfied with my answer but nodded all the same. I scurried down the little path and pushed open the gate. As soon as I was out of the king's line of vision, I breathed a sigh of relief. That was a close one. _Now I have to tell Gandalf that we're old chums. Way to go, Cass. _Shaking my head, I tipped the inside of the chamber pot out on the grass, trying to avoid the plants.

Not particularly desperate to face Thorin's questioning gaze again I paused, taking the time to admire Bilbo's front garden. As I examined the multiple flowers in bloom, my attention was caught by a cluster of pretty little white blossoms. I lent closer and picked one, bringing it up at eye level for closer inspection. I recognized the little flower; Mr. Mulpepper cultivated them in the greenhouse behind the apothecary. I remembered selling the dried herbs to potioneers. What was the flower's name again? I racked my brains, trying to remember. _Feverfew? _Yes, that was it! The Feverfew plant. I glanced up at the hobbit-hole, wondering if Bilbo would mind me taking a few of the flowers. I shrugged. _Might as well take this whole medic cover seriously seeing as I'm no use at all in a fight._

By the time I pushed open the little gate and strolled up the path again, I had collected a nice little bunch of the white flowers. Thorin raised his eyebrows as I approached, his gaze zooming in on the blooms.

I spoke before he could make a sarcastic remark. "No, these are _not_ for decoration. I don't do flower arrangements." I pointed to the plants. "This is a feverfew plant. It reduces pains such as headaches and helps lower fever. It's also good in tea as a relaxant." I smiled thinly at the dwarf. "You hired me because I know this kind of thing. So I'd appreciate it if you cut me a little slack and let me do my job. Please," I added after a thought, remembering my manners.

The king slowly got to his feet. Was it just me or was there an approving glint in his eyes as he held open the door for me? "By all means. Make yourself useful, my Lady"

_Huh. Well that was easy. _

I ducked under the low doorframe and went to place the chamber pot back inside the bathroom. Inside the hobbit-hole the dwarves were slowly stirring. There was the distinct sent of fried sausage in the air and my stomach rumbled loudly. Dwalin and Balin were already up and gathering their belongings as I entered the living room.

Dwalin grunted when he saw me. "I see that you've gotten rid of that tangled mass on your head, lass. Good. It would only have gotten in the way."

"Good morning to you too," I muttered. "When are we leaving?"

"Just as soon as we've all had breakfast," Balin replied. "We won't get many chances to enjoy a nice hot meal every morning once we depart from Mister Baggins' home, so we're making the most of it."

_Tell me about it. _"Where is Bilbo anyway? Is he going to see us off?"

"I doubt it, lass. After last night, he's probably waiting for us to leave before venturing out of his bedroom. We gave him quite a fright." Balin pointed at the feverfew plant, changing the subject. "What have you got there?"

The old dwarf nodded approvingly when I'd finished explaining once again what the flowers were for. "Good thinking, Miss Cassie. Why don't you go and help Ori prepare breakfast in the kitchen? We can finish up here." He waved me away.

I found Ori up to his neck in bacon and sausages, pilling them up high on plates with eggs as the dwarves trooped in one by one to be served.

He raised his eyebrows at me when I entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Miss," he greeted. "What happened to your hair?"

"I got tired of it," I said, grabbing a frying pan and cracking an egg. It started sizzling as soon as it was on the stove. "It was starting to look like a hay stack. And how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Miss? I could be married for all you know. I'm _not,_ though," I added hastily when he looked surprised. "Merlin, I'm far too young to be thinking about _that_."

Ori chose not to comment. _Smart guy_. We worked in silence and my mind turned back to the flowers I'd collected. _How should I dry them?_ In the apothecary we would tie the plants in a bundle at their stems with some twine and hang them upside down in a dark and airy room for two weeks. After that they would be perfectly dry and ready for sale (some potioneers preferred to buy the whole plant, not just the leaves). But I didn't have the luxury of a dry, ventilated room or two weeks' time on my hands. So what _did_ I have? Well, we'd probably light a fire at night – maybe I could find a way to dry the herbs close to the flames. Sure, they'd turn out a little more brittle than I'd like but it _might_ work.

"Pardon me, Miss? Cassie?" Ori said, pulling me from my thoughts. He handed me a plate full of bacon, sausages and eggs. "Everyone has finished eating. We're the last ones and I think Thorin is getting impatient."

"Well, he'd better not complain about it. He was happy to get breakfast cooked for him wasn't he? Now the _cooks_ need to eat." I sat down at the counter (which barely rose above my knees) and dug into the food. I stifled a groan as I swallowed my first bite of sausage. _Heavenly._ All too soon I was hunting around the kitchen for a piece of bread to lick the remnants of grease from my plate._ Savor good food while you still can, Cass, _I thought glumly, _you won't be eating anything better than beans and dried meat for the next few months._

"Gandalf!" Ori exclaimed suddenly. I looked up to see that the wizard was standing in the doorway, stooping slightly to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. I grinned at the sight of him and the old man hair smiled back.

"Good morning, Ori. Cassie." He bowed his head to each of us in turn. "We are making the last preparations for our departure. I believe we shall be leaving shortly now that we are all fed and watered. We have a long road ahead of us and we would do well to take advantage of an early start."

I jumped to my feet. "Right. Leaving soon. Gotcha."

Half an hour later I stepped outside and was surprised to find several ponies lined up along the hobbit's front gate. _More_ than several, in fact. Fourteen ponies and a horse; one for each of us. That must have been where Gandalf was this morning when we were all still asleep; finding mounts for us to ride. The dwarves were loading heavy looking packs onto the ponies' backs. I caught sight of the wizard talking to Balin near the front of the line and remembered something I needed to tell him.

"Gandalf!" I hailed. The old man looked up and I waved him over. He excused himself from the conversation and followed as I led him away from the group.

"Just a heads up," I said when we were out of earshot. "I was talking to Thorin earlier and I think he's still suspicious about me."

This didn't seem to surprise him. "I would consider him a fool if he wasn't."

I shot him a withering look. "No kidding, gramps. Anyway, he was asking me about how we knew each other, so I told him that we've been friends for a long time. I didn't go into the details and he left it at that. Just thought you should know in case he asked you about it."

Gandalf leant on his stick, looking thoughtful. "Yes, Thorin mentioned your little run-in with him when I returned from Bywater with our mounts. He seemed to think you were being deliberately evasive."

"Really? What did you say?" It occurred to me that we really should have had this conversation yesterday, when the dwarves were full up on beer and too drunk to question the wisdom of welcoming a complete stranger into their mists.

The old man smiled reassuringly. "Only that I was on good terms with your father. I also said that it was on his request that you had ventured from your homeland to discover the world."

I thought about this. _My father, huh? _"I told Fili and Kili that I was from an island in the north. I mentioned the war. Do you think we could work with that?"

"I don't see why not. I did not specify the exact location of your village to Thorin, so I believe we can work our two separate tales together. Although we shall have to tell him the truth sooner or later. He has a right to know who he is trusting with his life."

The truth. Right. _How can I tell him the truth when I'm not even sure of it myself?_

My dejection must have shown on my face because Gandalf patted me on the back and said: "Don't look so glum! I am certain that once you have proven your use, Thorin will be more that glad to have brought you along. Now come! We must not keep the company waiting." He started to leave.

"Hey, Gandalf!" I called as he walked away.

"Yes, my dear?"

I fidgeted, unsure how to express what I wanted to say. "You know what Thorin said yesterday…about witches?" The old man nodded. "Do you believe it? That they're evil?"

He gazed at me without saying anything for a long while. When he spoke at last his voice was serious. "Most folk would say that. You must understand that our world has known times of great evil, during which many sorceresses chose to support the wrong side. This has affected their reputation significantly amongst the people of Middle-earth - who have long since learnt to regard witches and their magic with suspicion, even hostility."

I swallowed. "But what do _you_ think?" He _had_ to suspect that there was more to my question than mere curiosity.

The old man studied me carefully with his piercing blue eyes, searching my gaze, and I thought I saw something flash across his face. Compassion? The next second it was gone, replaced by an enigmatic smile. "Me?" he chuckled softly. "I am not most folk, Cassie. You would do well to remember that." And with a swish of his cloak he strode back up the path towards the hobbit-hole, whistling an unfamiliar tune and leaving me completely baffled in his wake.

oooOOOooo

Despite both Gandalf and Thorin's desire to make an early start it was another twenty minutes before we were finally set to leave. At long last all the bags were packed and slung onto the ponies' backs and we were ready for departure. My short sword hung limply at my side, the small bundle of feverfew flowers safely tucked away in an old leather bag that Balin had given me. Those three items and the clothes on my back were the only possessions I had to my name.

"Say, Gandalf!" Gloin called as he heaved himself upon his mount. "Where did you come by these fine ponies?"

Gandalf had already mounted his horse. "I purchased them for a good price from a farmer in Bywater this morning," he replied.

"You bought _fourteen_ ponies from _one_ farmer?" I asked incredulously.

"Do not be foolish, Miss Morgan. I bought _six_ ponies and a horse. Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Fili and Kili all came with ponies of their own and three additional mounts to help carry their load." He gestured to a fat little pony at the end of the line. "This one is yours for now."

I approached the pony cautiously as it grazed on a clump of grass, anxiety twisting my gut. Broomsticks I could handle. At Hogwarts I'd been a damn good flier and would have made the Slytherin quidditch team if Malfoy hadn't bought his way in. I used to spend all of my free time soaring above the school grounds on my old Cleansweep 5. In the air I was completely at ease. On a pony, however…

I could feel the dwarves' gazes boring into my back as I neared the animal. Everyone had mounted already and I was the only one still on the ground. I took a deep, steadying breath and stepped forwards. _Come on Cass, don't be such a wuss; it's just a pony. _At that moment the pony gave a loud snort and I nearly jumped a foot out of my skin in alarm. I glared as the dwarves closest started snickering. Glancing over my shoulder I saw that most of the company was doing their best to conceal smirks. _Assholes._ Thorin was the only one who did not look amused, but then again I was beginning to think that his face was permanently set in that irritated frown. I had yet to see the king crack a joke or even _smile_ since we had been introduced. He _certainly_ wasn't smiling now.

"Is there a problem Miss Morgan?"

I gritted my teeth. "Nope, no problem at all." I stepped forwards a second time and laid a hand on the animal's back, trying not to show my discomfort. The pony snorted again and swished its tail indifferently. _Okay, let's get this over with._ Seizing its mane, I hoisted myself clumsily onto the saddle and slid my feet into the stirrups, aware of how ridiculous I must look precariously balanced on the tiny pony's back. I gripped the reigns gingerly and tried not to slide off as Thorin urged his mount forwards. The company followed suit and I felt a brief surge of panic. _How do I get it to move? _I needn't have worried; the pony seemed quite content to simply tail the others.

I gripped the front of the saddle tightly with both hands, bouncing uncomfortable as the little pony trotted along. It didn't seem to be in any need of directions from my part, which was just as well seeing that I would have been totally at a loss at what to do. I was perfectly happy to let it do its thing while I concentrated on my balance.

Gandalf slowed his horse and fell in step besides me. He eyed me critically. "You are sitting far too stiffly. Try to relax your posture or you will fall off. Have you never ridden on horseback before?"

"No," I replied through gritted teeth. _Merlin_, my buttocks were already sore and we hadn't been ridding for ten minutes yet. How much more of this would I have to endure before we stopped for the night? Eight hours? Nine? "In my world we don't travel by horse anymore."

"Indeed?" He sounded curious. "How do you travel long distances?"

I suddenly realized that I had hardly told the old man anything about the civilization that I'd left behind. _Damn, he's far more patient than I gave him credit for. _If our roles had been reversed I would have pressed him for details about his life and world, far too curious to let a little thing like shock or emotional trauma get in the way. "Well," I answered, "our technology is a lot more developed where I'm from. We use different modes of transportation that don't involve animals." Muggles did anyway, but I wasn't going to bring broomsticks and thestral-drawn carriages into to conversation. "They're a hell of a lot more comfortable than _this_." No sooner had the words left my mouth that the pony gave a huge lurch and I was thrown of its back, landing heavily onto the ground. "_Ow!_"

Gandalf stopped his horse, looking amused. "Perhaps our means of transportation do not meet your standards Miss Morgan, but rest assured that horseback it by far the fastest way to travel in this land. I apologize in advance for your lack of comfort." He raised an eyebrow. "However, it would be in your best interest not to voice you complaints quite so loudly. The terms of your contract stated quite clearly that you would be left behind at the slightest sign of slowing the company down. The dwarves will not be saddled with an ungrateful young lady who objects at every turn."

I spluttered angrily but had the sense to keep my mouth shut. Luckily, being last in line meant that the old man had been the only one to witness my fall. I quickly scrambled to my feet, brushing the dust from my cloths. _Ungrateful young lady? _I glared at the pony, who had taken the opportunity to start grazing at the grass, unperturbed by the whole event. The pony returned my gaze lazily. Stupid animal.

I hastily pulled myself back into the saddle before anyone noticed my little mishap. The last thing I needed was to give Thorin another reason to doubt my competence with the outdoors. Gandalf urged his horse forwards and the little pony followed.

"What did you mean when you said that I could ride this pony _for now_?" I winced, feeling a bruise beginning to blossom. "Why can't I ride it all the time?"

"Once Mister Baggins decides to join us we will be a mound short and we shall have to find a way to make do. I would have bought another pony along, but the famer did not have any more to spare."

There was a short silence as I processed this. "Wait a minute; I thought Bilbo said he didn't want to come? Has he changed his mind?"

"No, but I am confident that he soon will. It's in his blood after all."

I remembered the expression on Bilbo's face when he'd opened his door to us the previous night. "I wouldn't bet on it."

"What's this about a wager?" Bofur called, having heard the last part of our conversation. The dwarf pulled on his reigns, slowing his pony to trot besides mine.

"Gandalf thinks that Bilbo is going to change his mind about not joining us," I explained.

"Really?" Bofur cast a questioning glance at the old man, who merely smiled knowingly. The dwarf suddenly grinned. "In that case I shall have to take you up on that, Miss Morgan. Who am I to question the judgment of our wizard?" He twisted in his saddle to face me. "How much are you willing to bet that our good friend Mister Baggins will remain tucked away in his hobbit-hole? Three silver pennies?"

I snorted and was about to answer that I didn't _have_ any money to bet away when I stopped myself.

What were the chances of the hobbit actually turning up? We had barged into his home uninvited, raided his pantry and practically forced him into a quest that would almost defiantly have gotten him killed. _He's probably left his bedroom by now and is eating breakfast, congratulating himself on having weaseled his way out._ I, on the other hand, could use the money. Who knew how long this journey to the Lonely Mountain was going to last?

"Sure, why not? Three pennies it is!"

"Excellent!" Bofur raised his voice for the whole company to here. "Anyone else prepared to wager on the hobbit's sense of adventure? How about you Dwalin?"

Everyone placed their bets. Some thought we'd never hear from Bilbo again, some (like Bofur) said that if _Gandalf_ believed Mister Baggins was on his way then he most certainly was. Hell, even the wizard joined in, gambling away a small sack of coins against Fili (who shared my conviction that the hobbit was relieved to see us gone). Thorin, unsurprisingly, was the only dwarf not to partake in the wagers and friendly banter that followed.


	7. On the Road Again

**On the Road Again**

Do you know what is more awkward than a person who has never ridden on horseback forced to travel by pony? _Two_ people who have never ridden on horseback forced to travel on the _same_ pony. I stifled a groan as I visualized the cramps I would have when we finally stopped for the night. My back and behind ached, the insides of my thighs felt raw from the friction of my skin against the saddle and I _stank_. I took a whiff under my armpits and gagged. I hadn't felt this filthy in months.

Bilbo wasn't faring so well either. I wasn't very big and his slight figure meant that we easily fit into the same saddle, but he cringed away from me the whole time, which must have made things extremely uncomfortable for him.

I was in no mood to feel sorry for the little hobbit. On the contrary, when I had spotted him running up the path behind us several hours earlier, heavily laden with traveling gear and waving his signed contract for everyone to see, I had even felt a little annoyed.

"Wait!" he had puffed, clutching his sides. "Wait! I signed it!" The company halted and Bilbo handed the parchment to Balin who held it up for closer inspection.

"Everything appears to be in order," the old dwarf concluded brightly. He smiled warmly at the hobbit. "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield!"

I grumbled quietly to myself as the dwarves laughed. I wasn't the only person who appeared to be put out by this sudden arrival; Fili looked none too pleased as he rooted around in his bag, and I remembered that I wasn't alone to have bet against Bilbo's change of heart.

Thorin barely spared the hobbit a glance. "He will ride with Miss Morgan." Ignoring my protests, the king urged his mount forwards and the company followed, pausing only when Fili and Kili dumped the startled-looking Bilbo unceremoniously on the pony with me. The hobbit went rigid and for a moment I thought we would both topple off, but he steadied himself just in time to cling onto the saddle as the pony lurched into motion.

"Come on Dori, pay up!" Oin called, looking smug.

The dwarves began settling their debts, extracting coins from their pockets and tossing them to one another. Bofur twisted around in his saddle with his hand outstretched, gazing at me expectantly.

I flushed and grumbled, "Pay you back later," wishing I'd been sensible enough to refrain from gambling when I'd had the chance.

Bofur grinned with the air of a cat cornering a mouse. "With interest," he said and spurred his pony to the front of the line.

"What's that about?" Bilbo asked when he had gone.

"Oh, they took wages on whether or not you would turn up," Gandalf replied as his horse came level with us. "Most of them bet that you wouldn't."

"Really?" The hobbit seemed a little offended, glancing over his shoulder to stare at me accusingly. "You bet against me?"

I shrugged moodily. "'Course I did. Can you blame me? You don't exactly strike me as the type to drop everything and run off into the blue."

He didn't dignify me with an answer, turning instead to face the wizard. "And what did you think?"

Gandalf chuckled as a fat purse of coins landed into his outstretched hand. "My dear fellow, I never doubted you for a second."

oooOOOooo

And so the company journeyed on – riding at first through neat hobbit-lands that reminded me strongly of the English countryside. We passed a few cozy looking cottages and an inn or two on our way, but as we pressed on these became scarce and the land took on a wilder tone. The rolling green hills and small twisting rivers gave way more desolate landscapes, and soon we were forced to leave the path. From time to time we would spot a stone structure in the distance and the inhabitants would watch wearily as we passed them by. We were no longer in hobbit territory - that much was certain.

The dwarves passed the time cheerily enough, singing songs and laughing at one another's jokes. They didn't seem capable of remaining serious for more than a few minutes_._ As the day progressed however, the mood dampened slightly as if the enormity of what we were about to attempt was suddenly brought into focus by the dreary scenery.

The dwarves paid no attention to the hobbit or me as the day wore on. Gandalf and Bilbo kept on a string of conversation, talking about everything from pipe weed to the weather. They attempted several times to include me into the discussion, asking me innocent questions about family and friends, but I was in no mood to join in, and eventually they stopped trying and let me sulk in peace.

The pony ride was turning out to be a nightmarish experience in my opinion. More aggravating was the fact that the dwarves stopped for nothing, not even lunch (which came in the form of long strips of dried meat). By the time the sun was setting and the king _finally_ called for a halt my rear was throbbing, my legs felt stiff, my back was aching and I was ready to _murder_ someone.

"Daylight is waning," Thorin stated as he dismounted. He glanced at our surroundings. "We will set up camp here until morning. Start unloading the ponies."

The location he had chosen was a flat stretch of land in the crook of the mountain side. It offered a clear view of the valley below and would give us a nice advantage on anyone trying to sneak up on the company during the night.

The dwarves started setting up camp, heaving heavy packs of food from the ponies' backs. I grabbed a couple of bedrolls and brought them over to where Oin was starting up a fire with the help of his brother Gloin. Bilbo, who seemed to understand that the more we made ourselves useful, the less grief we'd get from Thorin later on, hastily followed my lead.

I was not in the best of moods. I didn't know how long it was going to take for me to get used to this way of traveling, but it had better be sooner rather than later, or someone – Bilbo, no doubt – was very likely to have their head torn off in the near future. I didn't have anything against the hobbit per se (other than the fact that he had already cost me three pennies and that his constant cheerfulness was like a cheese grater to my nerves) but if the dwarves insisted on us riding together, then he would be the most convenient target to vent my frustration on.

Oin seemed to sense my bad temper and said nothing as I dumped the bedrolls next to the flames, but his brother wasn't as wise.

"When will supper be ready?" he asked, looking pointedly in my direction – To which I replied rather sharply that I wasn't his freakin' _housemaid_ and that the day I'd cook dinner for the company would be the day hell froze over.

"I'm gonna get wood for the fire," I finished, turning my back on the dwarf's nonplussed expression and storming off into the forest.

The minute I was out of earshot I let out a stream of curses, stamping my foot childishly on the ground. I couldn't explain for sure why I felt so angry. Maybe it was my way of coping with the stress of the past twenty-four hours (I realized with a jolt that barely a day had passed since I was stuck by the killing curse). Self-indulgence was not my style. In Slytherin, it is considered a weakness, and Salazar's _noble_ house does not tolerate the weak. No, I much preferred to fume my anger away privately rather than indulge in self-pity.

So I kicked at the ground for a bit and threw a couple of stones against the trees, muttering under my breath the whole time. Once I had vented my frustration, I closed my eyes, took a deep, calming breath and stretched my hands out in front of me, palms facing outwards.

"_Inflamare_."

I wasn't particularly surprised when nothing happened. Wandless magic was turning out to be a pain in the ass.

oooOOOooo

By the time I'd gathered enough firewood to last us a couple of hours and made my way back to the camp, most of the bags had been unpacked and Bombur had started the preparations for dinner. He nodded when he saw me approach and pointed to the ground besides him. I dumped my load close to the fire, keeping a long twig that was suitable for the task I had in mind.

I went to my pack to fetch the small bunch of feverfew flowers and a tightly wound ball of string lent to me by Balin, then set to work tying the plants by their stems to the piece of wood. When I was finished, I returned to the fire and planted the stick at a safe distance, the flowers dangling upside down, hoping it would be enough to dry them. They were already looking a little withered from the long day's ride.

Oin, who was seated close to the flames, looked at me with interest. He leant closer to examine the flowers. "Feverfew?" he asked.

I nodded and he grunted in approval. "Aye, a useful plant, that." He reached behind and produced a small leather satchel from one of the packs. "I hear you know your way around herbal remedies?" he asked as he opened it up for me to see.

I peered inside curiously. The satchel was divided into several compartments, each filled with a number of small pouches and bundles of roots. A strong odor of dried herbs wafted from the bag, reminding me of the storage room in the back of the Apothecary.

"Are you some kind of healer?" I wondered out loud as I examined the herbs more closely. I recognized a few of them from my work with Mr. Mulpepper, but several of the dried roots were completely unknown to me.

Oin chuckled. "You could say that." He produced an ear trumpet from his pack and started scrubbing at a patch of rust absently. "I've always had a certain fascination for medical practitioners and their art. Dwarves are not prone to illnesses the way Mankind is, but I prefer to ere on the safe side." He winked at me. "It never hurts to have a healer close at hand."

For the next few minutes he quizzed me about my knowledge of herbs and remedies, asking me questions fifteen to the dozen. I answered as best I could and was surprised by how much I remembered from my schooldays. Some of the other dwarves listened in on the conversation at first but grew bored after a while and wandered away. Ori and Gandalf stayed however, voicing their opinion every now and then, but mostly listening as Oin and I exchanged information. Bilbo had fallen asleep.

"How did you lose your fingers?" Ori asked finally at a lull in the conversation. He pointed to my left hand where both my ring and little finger were missing. "Was it in a battle?"

The dwarves who were still awake looked up in interest at his question. I gazed around the circle at their expressions (ranging from curiosity to cynicism) as they waited for me to answer. They had accepted the wizard's word when he had said that I could fight the previous night, but it was obvious that none of them really believed it. I couldn't blame their skepticism. I certainly didn't look like a warrior, and strictly speaking I _wasn't_. Not by their standards anyway.

That didn't mean that I _hadn't_ lost my fingers in a fight. In fact, I'd splinched them by aparating _during_ a fight, so I suppose that kind of counted as a battle wound. But there was no way in hell I was explaining _that_.

"Nope," I lied smoothly. "I chopped them of in a kitchen accident. I can't cook to save my life. And frying eggs doesn't count as cooking," I added as Ori opened his mouth, no doubt to point out that I'd helped him with breakfast that very morning.

He might have denied my statement, but at that moment the discussion was cut short as a loud screech sounded across the valley.

Kili looked up from the knife he was sharpening and I sat a little straighter, my hand automatically twitching towards my right pocket. _What the hell was that?_

"What was that?" Bilbo asked nervously, echoing my thoughts as he scuttled back from where the ponies were being kept (I hadn't noticed him get up).

Kili frowned and cocked his head slightly to the right, listening intently. "Orcs," he breathed.

"Orcs?" the hobbit looked alarmed as he hurried back to the fire. Thorin stirred from his seat by the rock, his hand slipping to the hilt of his sword.

Fili nodded as he puffed on his pipe, cool as a cucumber. "Throat cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The low lands are crawling with them."

I glanced tensely at Gandalf who was smoking his pipe nearby. He'd never said anything about orcs. What were they? Shouldn't we be getting ready for trouble, or at least taking cover in the woods? I licked my dry lips and reached for my short sword, cursing silently under my breath. I'd really been hoping that I would have recovered at least a_ little_ of my spell power before we ran into trouble, but it looked as if I was going to have to find a way to survive without my magic. I didn't fancy the odds.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep," Kili pressed on, oblivious to the effect his words were having on Bilbo, who had turned a nasty grey color. "Quick and quiet – no screams – just lots of blood."

As the hobbit turned away to glance nervously down the side of the mountain, the brothers shared a look of mischief.

_Those little gits_!

I couldn't believe it. They were having a laugh.

I glared as Kili caught sight of my defensive posture and elbowed Fili in the ribs, smirking. "Something the matter Cassie?"

The brothers snickered.

"Do you think that's funny?" Thorin asked sharply as he rose to his feet, putting an end to the mocking. "Do you think a night-raid by orcs is a laughing matter?"

It was my turn to smirk as the brothers shrank back into the rock under the intensity of their uncle's cold stare.

Kili looked downcast. "We didn't mean anything by it –"

"No. You didn't." Thorin's disappointment was almost palpable; it seemed to roll of him in waves. Then, suddenly he turned his accusing stare on _me_, as if _I_ had somehow had a hand in this prank. "You know nothing of the world."

The king moved away to the edge of the cliff and stared out at the darkened lands of Middle-Earth, unable to look at his nephews any longer.

I smirked at the Durin brother's dejected looks. "Serves you right."

Balin hushed me as he approached the flames and leant against the side of the mountain. "Don't mind him, laddie," he told Kili sympathetically. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

I could sense a story coming along, so I leant back against my bedroll in an effort to find a more comfortable position, and listened closely as Balin began his tale:

"After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, king Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had gotten there first. Moria had been taken by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler."

Besides me, Bilbo shifted, turning to shoot a glance at the Thorin's retreated figure.

"The giant orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the king." Balin's eyes were glassy as he stared into the flames, and I realized that he had been at Thorin's side when Azog had murdered the dwarf king's grandfather.

"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us."

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to rub some warmth back inside my limbs. This story was reminding me of another battle, one that had claimed many lives. I closed my eyes as Balin pressed on. The dancing fire created patterns of red behind my eyelids, and for a moment I saw the blackened crumbling ruin that had once been Hogwarts castle, alight with flames.

"That is when I saw him." I opened my eyes to see that Balin was smiling, a victorious look upon his face as he gazed towards his king. He had the proud expression of a father describing the triumphs his son. "A young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc. He stood alone before his terrible foe, his armor wrecked, using nothing but a broken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated." Balin sighed and suddenly he looked very old, as if the burden of the years lay heavily on his shoulders, crushing him beneath their weight. "But there was no feast nor songs that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then: _There is one who I could follow. There is one I could call king_."

There was a hush as the dwarves all clambered to their feet to gaze at their leader, awe and respect etched across their faces. Thorin turned away from the cliff edge and slowly made his way back towards the company.

"But the pale orc?" Bilbo whispered as the king passed us by, "What happened to him?"

Thorin paused and answered before the old dwarf could. "He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That _filth_ died of his wounds long ago."

Gandalf's eyes flitted towards Balin's and between them passed a look charged with meaning. I got the distinct impression that they knew something the king didn't.

I crawled over to the wizard's side.

"What's an orc?" I whispered, shooting a glance over my shoulder to assure myself that no one was listening.

Gandalf looked surprised. "There are no orcs in your homeland?"

"Would I be asking you if there were?"

The old man puffed on his pipe and seemed to consider how best to answer my question. Finally, he blew out a long steam of smoke and said, "They were once elves, long ago. But torture and mutilation has corrupted their hearts and given way to some new twisted creation. Now they are a separate race entirely."

I pondered this. _Elves?_ This world had elves? Well, orcs couldn't be very big if there species was an alteration of house-elf genes.

"Do you think we'll see some on our journey?"

Gandalf smiled mirthlessly. "I hope not. But as Kili said; the low lands are crawling with them. I dare say we shall encounter a few before our task is done, and with a bit of luck, perhaps a few rough orcs is all we shall have to face."

How wrong he was.

oooOOOooo

**Phew! One chapter down, a hell of a lot more to go. **

**Please review! I'd really love to know your thoughts. Do you have thoughts? What are those thoughts? Will you tell them to me? Any thought at all will do. If you have 'em, I want to hear 'em ;)**

**Next chapter, Cassie has her first encounter with a Tolkenish monster (if you've read the book or seen the movie, then you know what I'm talking about. I you haven't, then **_**WHY**_**?) **


	8. The Subtleties of Dwarfen Cuisine

**You'll have to forgive Cassie if she doesn't immediately hop onboard the '**_**I heart Bilbo Baggins'**_** wagon. I mean come on, let's face it, at the beginning of the book/movie he's pretty pathetic (not that he doesn't change over time). Cassie **_**is**_** a Slytherin so she's entitled to a little prejudice. And also, as you might have noticed, she has quite the temper. I like to think that she considers the hobbit to be a nice person, but a bit of a nuisance – which is a little hypocritical of her, since that's exactly how the dwarves see **_**her**_**. Gandalf appears to be the only one who thinks that Cassie and Bilbo are worth the trouble (**_**bless him**_**). **

**Also, don't worry, Cassie will not remain powerless forever. I just didn't want to make things too easy for her (I'm a bit of a sadist and I love to watch my OCs suffer ^^).**

**So without farther ado, here is the next chapter! I hope you like it, I certainly had fun writing it. Cassie's loyalties are about to be tested!**

**The Subtleties of Dwarven Cuisine**

Over the course of the next few days, the company settled into a routine. We would start early each morning and ride until sunset, stopping only when Thorin had chosen a location for the night. Then dinner (which was _not_ prepared by me) would be served and the dwarves argued over who was to keep first watch while the others slept. I was usually spared from that particular chore, and I got the distinct impression that none of the men deemed me competent enough to guard the camp while they lay unconscious. I didn't particularly care what they thought if it meant that I could enjoy a full night's sleep.

Eventually, I stopped feeling so sore from riding and the bruises on my thighs gradually faded until they became almost invisible. I still stank, though, and hadn't been able to do more than scrub my face hastily in a passing stream since departing from the safety of Bilbo's hobbit-hole.

Mister Baggins was not coping well with life outdoors and it was clear that his thoughts were often turned homewards. I was able to deduce that much from the way his eyes light up whenever we were alone and he felt the need to fill the silence with idle chitchat about the Shire, his front garden, and basically anything home-related.

These moments occurred more often than I would have liked. The dwarves were quick to dismiss the hobbit and me from their little community, and often when the company set up camp they would send us off to do odd jobs as they made the necessary preparations for the night.

During these moments I had discovered that Bilbo liked conversation. Or maybe it was just that since I stubbornly refused to engage in any form of pointless small-talk, he felt compelled to make up for my silence.

After our first night, I had hinted at the possibility of riding by myself the following morning, but Thorin had been quick to shoot that idea down, telling me that since the hobbit and I were two last minute additions to his company, we might as well ride on the same pony for the time being.

_Bloody unfair_.

Even Bilbo had noticed our exclusion. It wasn't that the dwarves were being _rude_ (I don't even think they were fully aware of it), just that it was clear we didn't belong.

"Why do you think the dwarves are always forcing us together?" Bilbo asked one evening when we were sent to fetch a pail of water from a river not far of our camp.

"Isn't it obvious?" When the hobbit showed no signs of understanding, I sighed and elaborated: "We're the only useless members of the company. The dwarves are all fighters. They've been in more battles than you could possibly imagine. Hell, even _Gandalf_ has his magic!" I felt a small twinge of envy as I said that, but pressed on before the hobbit took notice. "We're the weak links."

"Really?" I expected Bilbo to be offended, but he just sounded curious.

"'Course. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the dwarves think about us. I'm just a frail, defenseless _girl_, and you're…" I trailed off as I tried to find words that would accurately describe the hobbit without bruising his ego.

He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I see what you mean."

I felt a little bemused at the hobbit's reaction. He had the lowest self-esteem imaginable.

Thorin seemed content in pretending that I didn't exist and I happily returned the favor, keeping out of his way as much as possible. I knew the only reason Bilbo and I had been allowed on this quest was that the king valued Gandalf's assistance too much to risk losing it over a fall out. He has willing to humor the wizard so long as we didn't turn out to be nuisances.

So far, Gandalf hadn't broached the whole '_let's tell Thorin the truth_' issue again, which was fine by me. As far as I was concerned, what the dwarf king didn't know couldn't hurt him, or in this case _me_.

And so I went out of my way to prove myself useful. I had learnt early on that the best way to integrate a group was to make yourself indispensable, and so I was doing just that.

Slytherin of me, I know.

The feverfew flowers had dried pretty well close to the flames, and although they were a little more brittle than I would have liked, Oin announced that they were perfectly usable.

Every evening, I used herb foraging as an excuse to wander away from the camp and practice wandless magic. So far I had made no progress in that field, but I refused to let it discourage me and persisted in my nightly excursions with a kind a desperate stubbornness.

The truth was that I couldn't bring myself into admitting that maybe I had lost my magic for good when I switched worlds. Maybe I would never be able to cast a spell again. Maybe I would be condemned to living as a muggle for the rest of my life, which would undoubtedly be cut short if I remanded on this suicidal quest for much longer.

No. For now I was telling myself that it was only a matter of time and willpower before my magic manifested itself again. The alternative was too upsetting to contemplate.

I was a survivor by nature, and I would survive this, just as I'd always had.

oooOOOooo

We were fifteen days into our journey when it began to rain. It wasn't a drizzle, but a horrible _wet_ rain that soaked through every layer of clothing I had on my back, which admittedly, wasn't a lot. The air was so thick with the heavy, icy droplets that it was getting hard to see. We tugged through the forest, the soil beneath us rapidly turning to sludge, our ponies wading miserably through the muddy track.

In the front of the saddle, Bilbo was shivering, his teeth chartering over the sound of the rain. Every now and then he would sneeze loudly, startling the pony.

"To think it will soon be June," he mumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. His hair was dripping into his eyes and his clothes were full of water.

I ran my fingers through my short hair, grateful that I'd had the good sense to cut it before our departure. "I'm pretty sure the rain has soaked into the bags of food and dry clothing."

Bilbo muttered something in response, and though I couldn't be certain, I think it was something along the lines of, "Bother burgling and everything to do with it!"

"Say Gandalf!" Dori cried somewhere from behind. "Can't you do something about this deluge?"

From the front of the line came the wizard's response: "It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done!" He peered over his shoulder to address Dori, his large hat shielding his face from the worst of the droplets. "If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."

Bilbo leant forwards. "Are there any? Other wizards, I mean."

I tilted my head a little, curious despite myself.

"There are five of us," Gandalf said. "The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. Then there are the two Blues." He hesitated. "Do you know, I've quite forgotten their names."

I snorted loudly. "Seriously?" Gandalf twisted in his saddle to glance questioningly in my direction. "Only five wizards in the world and you've forgotten two of their names?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You belong at Saint-Mungo's, dude."

I doubted the old man had understood the last part of my sentence, but he seemed to get the general meaning of it as he frowned sternly. Fortunately, by now he had gotten used to my erratic mood swings and knew better than to take it personally.

He cleared his throat and continued as if I hadn't interrupted. "And lastly there is Radagast the Brown."

Bilbo, in all his subtle glory, asked, "And is he a great wizard? Or is he more like you?"

I tuned out Gandalf's indignant answer and started rubbing my hands together, trying to recapture some warmth in them. They felt half frozen and were turning slightly blue at the tips. _What I wouldn't give for a cup of tea right now…_

"What's a dude?"

"Hmm?"

Bilbo looked over his shoulder. "You called Gandalf a 'dude' before. What does that mean?"

The unexpected question brought a small smirk to my lips. Something about the way the hobbit was carefully pronouncing the modern-day word was incredibly funny.

"It means, um… friend, or buddy."

"Is it a term from your land?" he asked curiously. Fili and Kili had been quick to spread the story that I'd told them about the remote island in the north that went by the name of England.

"Yeah."

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully, sending droplets of rain flying to and fro. "Do you miss them? Your people?"

I hadn't really thought about it. _Do I miss them?_ Mr. Mulpepper was a decent boss, but our relationship had never extended beyond the realm of employer and employee. I didn't possess the social skills required for getting people to like me, and anyhow, those skills would have been wasted in Slytherin. As for my family, there was no love lost _there_.

I shrugged. "Not particularly."

Two hours later, the rain stopped and Thorin lead us away from the muggy, stuffy confines of the forest, into the open air. We decided to halt early that evening so as to be able to evaluate the damage the rain had done to the supplies.

We soon came across a small property in ruins. The structure looked unstable and it seemed to have been ripped apart by something much larger than any of our band.

I immediately decided that I didn't like the look of it.

Thorin however, steered his pony around, looking back at us with a firm nod. "We will camp here for the night," he announced. "Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them."

As the company started to prepare the camp, I hopped of the pony's back and stretched, glorifying in the last few rays of sunlight. The ground was damp and soggy under my feet.

I noticed that Gandalf had made his way into the ruin and was speaking intently to Thorin. He appeared to be trying to persuade the king, and judging by Thorin's tight-lipped expression, he didn't like what the wizard was saying.

"What's up with _them?_" I asked Bilbo, who was helping Balin with the ponies.

The hobbit shrugged.

A moment later, raised voices were herd, and I looked up to see Gandalf storming away from the ruin angrily.

"Everything alright?" Bilbo asked as the wizard swept by. "Gandalf, where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one around here who has any sense!"

"And who's that?"

"Myself, mister Baggins!" We watched, nonplussed, as the wizard marched away in to the trees.

I glanced over my shoulder to see that Thorin was observing the old man's retreating figure coldly from inside the ruin.

_What the hell was that about?_

oooOOOooo

"Will you please stop pacing? You're wearing a hole in the ground."

Bilbo ignored me as he said, yet again, "He's been a long time."

Night had now fully set and I was sitting beside the fire, watching as Bofur spooned copious amounts of gruel into Bombur's waiting bowl. Bilbo was working himself into a frenzy and kept darting from one end of the ruined cottage to the other. It was making me dizzy.

"Who?" Bofur asked, as if he didn't already know perfectly well who the hobbit was referring to.

"Gandalf!"

"He's a wizard," the dwarf exclaimed, as if that explained everything. "He does as he chooses. Here," He thrust two overflowing bowls into Bilbo's hands, "Do us a favor. Take this to the lads."

I suspected that Bofur's request had less to do with feeding the Durin brothers and more to do with getting the hobbit to stop fretting over the old man's unexpected disappearance.

Despite my earlier comment, I wasn't doing too well myself.

Gandalf _had_ been gone a long time. Too long in my opinion. Where the hell had he gotten to?

_What if he's abandoned us?_

I pushed the stray thought away. No way. The wizard wouldn't just run off without telling me. He was the one who had dragged me into this whole mess in the first place. It would make no sense for him to suddenly decide that he wasn't interested in seeing us to our journey's end and leave without giving me a heads up.

Wouldn't it?

_And what makes you think he would tell_ you_? _A sly voice murmured in the back of my head. _You've barely known him for two weeks. Why would he saddle himself with an obnoxious, disagreeable girl like you?_

_ Because he knows that I'm not just some muggle, _I argued. _Gandalf wouldn't abandon me._

_Are you sure? Did he ever say as much? What makes you think he suspects you're a witch? You've never been able to prove it to him._

The more I thought about it, the less certain I became that the wizard _was_ coming back. The prospect sent a small surge of panic through my gut. Without Gandalf, my contract might as well be void. Thorin would ditch me at the first chance he got, and _then_ what would I do?

I jumped to my feet, startling Bofur.

I needed to find the wizard.

"Where are you going?" the dwarf called as I grabbed my bag and raced towards the trees in the general direction the old man had been headed.

"Foraging for herbs!" I called over my shoulder. I didn't stop to see if he'd heard me.

oooOOOooo

As I started searching the forest at random, the question of what I would do if I found Gandalf and discovered that he _had_, in fact, decided to leave arose to my mind.

_Go with him_, my inner-voice immediately supplied. _If anyone can help you find your way home, it's the wizard._

I owed Gandalf more than I did Thorin and his band – and if I was forced to pick between one of the two, there was no doubt in my mind that the wizard would be my final choice.

The forest was an endless tangle of trees and bushes. I breathed in the crisp night air, the scent of rotting leaves and damp earth. There was plenty to hear – creaking branches, whispering breezes, predators and pray hooting, squealing, bolting and diving – but no sign of the wizard.

I stumbled around blindly for a good half hour, my short sword tightly clasped in my hand, ready to use in case I ran into danger. I didn't dare raise my voice in fear that the noise might attract unwanted attention, a bear, or wild cat, or – heaven forbid – an orc. The thick foliage above my head let through very little moonlight, making it almost impossible to see more than dim shapes and shadows. If anyone were to attack me now, I would make a very easy target.

Suddenly, a loud _crack_ sounded to my right, and I spun in direction of the noise, swiping the air with my sword, only to be greeted with a blinding white light. I shielded my eyes against the glow, slicing wildly at its unknown source.

"Cassie?"

I peered through my fingers. Gandalf was standing before me, his eyebrows raised in surprise. The tip of his staff was alight, not unlike the way of a _lumos_ charm.

I lowered my short sword, relieved to have finally found my quarry.

Gandalf raised his staff and struck the ground once. The light dimmed slightly, allowing me to see his face more clearly.

"What are you doing so far from the camp?" he asked.

"Looking for _you_." I sheathed my weapon. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I was scouting the road ahead, as it will soon become dangerous and difficult. I worry that our small stock of provisions shall not last us much longer as we venture deeper into the Lone Lands."

"Oh." I suddenly felt that I may have over-reacted. "Well… Bilbo's kind of upset that you've been gone for so long. I think he's under the impression that you decided to ditch us."

"Is that so?" Gandalf gave me an amused look that told me he was not fooled by my nonchalance. "Then perhaps we should return to the company to reassure '_Mr. Baggins'_ of my continued presence amongst you."

"Yeah, sure," I grumbled. "Let's do that."

Turns out that I hadn't ventured very far as I'd mostly been wandering in circles. As if I wasn't embarrassed enough.

"You should be more cautious when strolling through the woods at night," Gandalf reprimanded we walked. "Just earlier, I chanced across some old friends of mine from Rivendell who informed me of a rumor that has been circling for some time now of trolls coming down from the mountain to ambushed travelers."

"Rivendell?" I asked, ignoring the last part about trolls. "Where's that?"

"Not very far from here. You may see it, if Thorin decides to set his grudges aside."

"Is that what you two were arguing about earlier?"

"Amongst other things," the wizard replied vaguely.

I was about to ask him to elaborate, when the old man suddenly hushed me into silence. I glanced up to see that he had frozen, his eyes fixed intently on something ahead. Following his gaze, I noticed that a faint reddish light was shining through the dark mass of trees. It looked as though it might be a fire or a torch.

I frowned. "We can't have arrived already. Gandalf?"

With surprising stealth, the old man had begun creeping towards the light. I followed, one hand on the hilt of my short sword.

We halted in the shadows some way off at the edge of the clearing where the light was emanating from, only to be greeted by a strange sight.

In the center of the clearing, a great fire of beach-logs was crackling merrily. Large barrels were dispatched here and there around the hearth, and as I craned my neck I was able to make out a pile of sacks squirming in a messy heap besides the flames. I squinted, trying to see what was inside and – No…

_What the hell?_

The dwarves' heads were producing from the sacks and they appeared to be trying to wriggle free. I could see Fili furiously gnawing at the rope that prevented them from escaping. More dwarves were stringed together around a spitfire which was slowly revolving above the flames.

But more alarming than that were the three enormous figures moving about the fire.

Gandalf sighed heavily besides me. "It appears that the rumors were well founded, after all."

Just at that moment, a foul stench reached my nostrils. I reeled backwards, gagging.

_Trolls. _

oooOOOooo

"What do we do?" I whispered.

_Duh_, my inner-voice scolded. _Get the hell away from here as fast as you can. Trolls are slow. They'll never catch you if you run now._

"We must help them escape," the wizard said.

Oh great. We were going for the heroic approach.

Before I could protest, Gandalf clapped me on the back and said, "Keep them distracted. I have a plan to get us out of this mess." And then he darted amongst the trees and was gone.

"Gandalf!" I hissed. No answer.

_Bloody stubborn adrenalin-loving git!_

I focused my attention back onto the clearing. _Okay Cass_, I thought, _No biggie. Just keep them distracted until the old crackpot does his thing._

Trolls were, after all, not renowned for their quick wits. I was pretty confident I could do this.

That is, until one of them started _talking_.

"Don't bother cooking 'em," the troll said as it made its way around the fire. "Let's just sit on 'em and squash 'em into jelly!"

What. The. _Fuck._

"They should be sautéed," the second one retorted, "and grilled with a sprinkle of sage."

I backed away into the shadows to process this new information. The trolls were _talking_. About how to _cook_ the dwarves.

_Merlin's beard_, when did things get so complicated?

"Never mind the seasoning. We ain't got all night. Dawn ain't far away so let's get a move on. I don't fancy getting turned to stone."

_Huh? _I pondered this information. So, the ugly brutes turned into statues at sunrise? I could work with that. I peeked up at the sky. It was defiantly getting brighter.

"Wait!" cried a shrill voice. The hobbit had somehow managed to wriggle to his feet and was hopping towards the trolls, an urgent look on his face. "You are making a terrible mistake with the seasoning!"

I frowned. _What is he doing?_ Surly, he knew that they couldn't be reasoned with?

The troll closest to him hunched down and spoke in a suspicious tone. "What about the seasoning?"

"Well, have you smelled them?" the hobbit piped, "You're going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up!" I noticed Bilbo glancing fugitively up at the sky as he said this, and suddenly realized what he was doing.

_Ooooh. Clever_. And sneaky. It seemed that I'd underestimated the hobbit.

"What do you know about cooking dwarf?"

Bilbo hesitated. "Um, the secret to cooking dwarf…" he seemed to consider his words, then willfully ploughed on. "Is to…" (I tilted my head, curious to hear what he would come up with) "…skin them first!" the hobbit concluded with a small grin, looking pleased with his own creativeness.

His words were greeted with a roar of outrage from the dwarves as they cursed the small hobbit and their gigantic captors.

_Idiots._

"Tom," the troll said. "Get me filleting knife."

Tom, however, wasn't convinced. "What a load of rubbish!" he cried. "They taste better with their skins _on_."

"He's right!" exclaimed the smallest of the three. "Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf!" And with that he marched over to the pile of bagged-dwarves, reached down and pulled Bombur from their midst. The fat dwarf yelled as the troll dangled him in the air, over his open mouth.

_Shit! _Things were going south. Without taking the time to think, I opened my mouth and sucked in breath. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Bilbo had started to shout something – no doubt some clever and cunning phrase that would save Bombur from his untimely demise – and I tried to hold back, but too late; the words were already leaving my mouth.

"No! You have to roast 'em!" My voice echoed across the clearing and the troll paused, Bombur's face inches from his gaping maw.

I clapped my hands over my mouth, shrinking back into the shadows. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! _I'd just revealed my position to a group of unnaturally smart mountain trolls.

The troll in question frowned and lowered the fat dwarf. "You what?" He asked Tom.

_Ok, scratch that_. If the ugly brute could mistake my squeaky protest for the voice of his fellow troll who was standing – might I add – several feet to his right, then these guys were seriously thick. Maybe I wasn't done for after all.

"I didn't say nothin'," the other retorted indignantly.

Bilbo, meanwhile, was squinting into the depth of the forest, in the general direction my voice had sounded from. His eyes widened slightly as he saw me crouched in the shadows. He quickly recovered however and nodded sharply, a determined look in his eyes, before turning to face the troll named Tom.

"Why, yes!" the hobbit exclaimed brightly. "Roasting them certainly _would_ bring out the flavor. Very clever of you to point that out, sir!"

Tom blinked. "I didn't say nothin'!" he repeated again, pointing a meaty finger to the smaller troll. "It was William!"

William roared his displeasure. "You're a liar!"

They began arguing loudly. I took advantage of the distraction to creep around the outskirts of the clearing and position myself behind the third troll who was still turning the spitfire.

I cleared my throat and worked to make my voice gruffer. "We could try boiling 'em!"

The troll whipped around at the sound, but I had already darted away.

"I suppose you _could_," Bilbo admitted, "_if_ you had any water to boil them with."

"Yes, Bert," William grumbled. "The little ferret's right. We ain't got no water to boil and it's a long way to the well and all!"

"Shut up!" Bert retorted. "It wasn't me that just spoke!"

"Well who was it then?" the other two demanded. "You was talking to yourself again, you booby!"

And so we kept the trolls busy. I would circle the clearing, shouting suggestions about which seasoning would go better with which dwarf, while the hobbit encouraged the dispute, occasionally making a suggestion of his own that would only fuel the argument. After a few seconds of this the dwarves finally caught on to our plan and began adding to the mayhem, blurting out random phrases such as: "I taste better with rosemary!" or even "Fry me! Fry me!"

_Yay, teamwork_.

It was all going rather well. Until I became overly-confident and let my guard slip.

My only warning was a panicked shout from Bilbo as a large meaty fist came crashing through the branches. "_Cassie_!" Alerted by the hobbit's cry, I dived out of the way just as Bert (unseen by me as he roamed around the edge of the clearing – shrewd little eyes gazing suspiciously into the depth of the trees) snatched at the air in an attempt to grab me.

I tumbled from my hiding place into the clearing and landed painfully on my knees.

There was a startled silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

"There's another one!" William roared and he lunged.

I rolled to the side, drawing my short sword and almost slicing my hand open in my haste, only to find that Tom was blocking my way.

The troll leered. "Leaving so soon?" He sniffed the air deliberately. "I love the taste of a female!"

"Stay back!" I shrieked, slashing at the space between us as Tom advanced. With a swiping gesture of his hand, the troll knocked my sword clean out of my grasp.

"Behind you!" Bilbo shouted.

I spun and ducked under Bert's legs as he came charging, scrambling to my feet and racing to the other end of the fireplace –

– Only to crash into the hobbit, who'd hopped away from the pile of dwarves in his attempt to help. I tumbled to the ground, Bilbo sprawled underneath me. Raising my eyes, I saw to my horror that William's gigantic fist was shooting towards us with deadly speed.

Everything seemed to slow. I could hear the dwarves shouting for me to get out of the way. But there was no _time_.

No time to question myself.

No time to _think_.

I reacted on impulse, as if my wand were tightly clenched in my right fist. Grabbing the hobbit's coat with my mutilated hand, I closed my eyes and focused all my willpower on three simple words: _Destination. Determination. Deliberation. _

And then I twisted away into nothingness.

oooOOOooo

**Cliffhanger, woot!**

**Please review! Constructive criticism is always welcome. **


	9. When the Tables Turn

**Remember how I said that I liked to torture my OCs? Well here's a perfect example of that. Oh, come on! Aparating is tricky enough magic as it is, but doing it without a **_**wand**_**? Something was bound to go wrong ;)**

**You have no idea how pleased I am that Cassie is not giving off a Mary-Sue vibe. Please let me know immediately if that ever changes.**

**When the Tables Turn**

Darkness engulfed me along with the sensation of being pressed very hard from all directions. I felt as if I were being forced down a narrow tube. My chest tightened, my eyes watered as they were pushed back into my skull; my ears were ringing, and I couldn't _breathe_.

I felt Bilbo stiffen underneath me and knew that the hobbit was feeling it too.

But something was very wrong.

This was taking far too long. I felt as though my body were being twisted in several directions at once. The uncomfortable compressing intensified and I wondered if I was going to suffocate. I couldn't see or breathe. The world was slipping away. My only anchor to reality was my tight grip on Bilbo's coat.

I squeezed my fingers and pulled. _Sweet Merlin, please let it end! _

There was a horribly loud ripping noise and for a second, I wondered if I'd somehow managed to tear the hobbit's coat. And then the right side of my head was alive with pain. I would have screamed if I'd been able to suck in air, but my lungs were squeezed of all their oxygen and all I could manage was a choked sob.

_Get out!_ My brain shrieked desperately. _Get out NOW!_

My head spun from lack of oxygen and the sheer intensity of the pain – like fire licking up the side of my face – and suddenly with an almighty _crack_ it was all over just as quickly as it had started, and I was left gasping for breath, clutching my head as I collapsed sideways.

My eyesight was hazy and distorted, ears pounding from the erratic beating of my heart. Something hot and sticky was oozing between my fingers. I raised them shakily before me and saw that my hand was red with blood. I gritted my teeth against a scream. Merlin, it _hurt._

"Cassie! Bilbo!" Someone was shouting.

Something twitched beside me. I pushed myself to my knees, wincing when the simple movement resulted in my head throbbing and more blood trickling down my shoulder, and took in the scene with wide-eyed bewilderment. The clearing was now bathed in sunlight and birds were chirping from the branches above. Bilbo lay beside me, white as a sheet and trembling violently. He groaned, and for a second I was afraid I hadn't apparated fast enough, that the troll had somehow gotten past me and injured the hobbit without me noticing. Then his eyes fluttered open, wide and unfocused, to find my face hovering above his. He blanched, gazed fixed on a spot a little to the right of my head, where the pain was still burning.

"Are you all right?" I rasped.

He managed to nod but his face lost none of its horrified expression. _He's in shock_, I realized.

Then someone seized me by the shoulders, jerking my gaze away. I fought back blindly, yelping with surprise, convinced that it was the troll about to finish what he'd started. My nails made contact with flesh and I lashed out, scratching my attacker. The hands holding me fell back and a string of curses reached my ears.

"Someone get Oin over here!" the voice called. "The girl is injured and she won't let me take a look!"

_Injured? _My gaze trailed about my immediate surroundings, falling on the spot where the hobbit and I had been crouched moments before – and I was surprised to see that we'd hardly moved at all, barely a few feet in fact, just enough to pull us out of harm's way. A gigantic stone fist was hovering above the ground. It was attached to an arm, which was attached to a shoulder belonging to a massive troll frozen in place by the sunlight, its ugly head turned upwards, snarling ferociously.

My gaze traveled downwards, spotting something in the earth below. It was a small and gruesome clump of flesh lying in a pool of blood and grime. I could make out something pale poking out of the lump and realized with a sickening feeling that it a bit of cartilage.

My insides crawled unpleasantly as I realized what had happened. My hand darted reflexively to my right ear which was throbbing painfully, feeling the blood dripping down the side of my neck and bridging the mental gap.

I'd splinched myself.

"Dori!" a gruff voice called. I tore my eyes away from the chunk of ear to see that Oin was marching towards us. "Run back to the camp and fetch my medical pack," he instructed. He reached out and grabbed my chin, forcing my head to the side so that he could see the extent of the injury. I cringed and tried to pull back but the dwarf held on tight, placing his other hand behind my head to prevent me from jerking away.

"Now then, Cassie," he growled. "Be still while I assess the damage." A low whistle. "How did it happen?"

_Huh? _My thoughts were muddled, but I could tell something was wrong with his question. _What is he talking about?_ _Didn't he see what happened?_ I glanced around the clearing. Most of the dwarves had managed to free themselves by now and were either assisting those still in sacs, or running around the fire and dowsing the flames. No one was sharpening their pitchforks or raising a pyre to burn me on, so I assumed that they had _somehow_ managed to miss the fact that I'd disappeared from one spot and reappeared in another, hauling Bilbo's ass along with me. Something must have distracted them just long enough for my apparition to pass unnoticed.

My gaze focused on a huge bolder that appeared to have recently been split in two. _Well, that would have done the trick._

"Um, I'm not sure." My words sounded sluggish. I swallowed, trying to straighten my thoughts as my ear throbbed painfully. _Think fast, Cass_. "It all went pretty fast. I think the troll managed to take a swipe at me before I pulled us away."

"How odd," Oin muttered, poking the area around my exposed flesh. I winced. "It almost looks as though the tissue was removed with a sharp implement. It is very fortunate indeed that you were not struck lower. The blow would have most likely killed you," he said seriously.

I felt a slight pressure on my hand. "You can let go of him, lassie," Balin said as he tried to pry my fingers away from the hobbit's coat. "You're both safe now." There was no anger in his voice, no suspicion. Miraculously, my secret was still safe.

Bilbo groaned loudly.

_Well,_ I amended, _mostly safe._ I tightened my grip, unwilling to let the sole witness of my witchcraft out of sight.

"Cassie," the old dwarf repeated slowly, as if he were trying to calm a wild animal, pulling gently at my fingers. "You can let go." He obviously thought I was having some kind of breakdown.

He couldn't have been more wrong. I had recovered from the initial shock of splinching and my mind was racing. _Bilbo saw you. Bilbo_ _knows_.

And I had to find a way to make sure Bilbo kept quiet about it. Although, by the looks of it the hobbit would have been incapable of blabbing even if he'd _wanted_ to. He was still sprawled on the ground, twitching every now and then.

I reluctantly relinquished my grip and watched as Balin pulled the hobbit into a sitting position. "Mister Baggins?" No response. Bilbo was still too shaken to speak. _Good._

"What happened?" I asked hoarsely, keeping my gaze fixed on the hobbit as Balin tried to get something out of him, ready to jump in at the slightest sign that Bilbo had recovered his ability to speak. _Don't give them the chance to interrogate him. Keep them distracted._ "Who split the boulder?"

"That was Gandalf's doing. Very impressive too. He appeared atop of the rock, sky ablaze behind him, and fractured it with his staff as if it had been naught but sand. And just in time, if you ask me. If he had waited but moment longer you would have been a goner."

I glanced at the wizard who was on the other side of the clearing, in deep conversation with Thorin. _Talk about a penchant for the dramatics. _No wonder the dwarves' attention had been elsewhere. As if he's sensed my gaze, Gandalf raised his eyes and met mine. He winked. I couldn't help but feel a little disgruntled. _That was his big plan?_ _Crack a rock in half and let that the sunlight do the rest?_ Was it too much to ask that he let me in on his strategy instead of giving me some vague instruction to _'keep them distracted'_ while he worked some big mumbo-jumbo to save the day?

Dori arrived at that moment with Oin's medical kid and the healer set to work cleaning my mangled ear. Once the bleeding had stopped, he insisted I leave the wound in the open to allow the draining of any pus resulting from infection. I was only half listening to the dwarf's instructions, my gaze fixed on Bilbo who had been propped unceremoniously against a nearby tree trunk. No one had been able to get a word out of him since I'd let go of his coat and he was now sitting with his head between his knees, breathing heavily. It was a little pathetic, actually.

_Give him a break, Cass. You weren't faring too well after your first slide-along apparition either._

By then most of the dwarves had left the clearing in search of the trolls' cave. According to the wizard, they would have needed a place to hide out during the daytime. I didn't know what was so appealing about a troll's lair but I was grateful that they were evacuating the premises. Oin, however, stubbornly remained, despite my assurances that was _fine_ and didn't need him breathing down my neck. I was getting more and more nervous by the minute. I needed to be alone with the hobbit.

It was only when Ori returned, his face alight with excitement, that I saw my chance.

"We found the cave!" the young dwarf exclaimed as soon as we were in earshot. "It's filled with all kinds of treasure! The trolls hoarded all the possessions of their victims."

At these words, Oin's eyes lit up with the kind of interest only a dwarf at the mention of gold could muster. He glanced quickly in my direction.

I jumped at the opportunity. 'Go. My injury isn't life-threatening." When he hesitated I waggled my left hand, showing off my missing fingers. "This is _nothing_. I've had far worse, believe me."

Oin seemed to be debating with himself. Just as I was beginning to think his concern of a patient might override his love of gold, he nodded and said, "Come to me _immediately_ if the wound starts to swell."

I nodded. He gave a satisfied grunt and followed Ori out of the clearing without a backwards glance. We were finally alone. I waited until his footsteps had retreated before jumping to my feet and rounding on the hobbit, who hadn't moved at all during the exchange.

"Bilbo?"

No answer. I approached cautiously, not wanting to alarm the hobbit. I could see his shoulders slowly rising and falling as he took in deep gulps of air. "Bilbo?" I tried again, louder. "Hey, Bilbo, how are you holding up?"

Stupid question, I know, but I needed some sigh that my poor attempt at aparating hadn't addled his brains or anything. _Is that even possible? _As pondered that troubling thought, the full realization of what I'd achieved hit me like a charging hippogriff.

I'd just apparated. Without a _wand_. Suddenly, I was flooded by a strong and intoxicating surge of victory. I'd done it. I'd _really_ done it! After weeks of sneaking about, of futile casting, of _praying_ for a miracle, my magic had finally manifested itself. And the only person take notice was currently in the middle of a full-blown panic attack. _How very… anticlimactic._

I snapped my fingers in front of the hobbit's face. "Come on Bilbo, snap out of it. We need to talk about this." Seizing him by the arm, I hurled him to his feet. This seemed to jerk some sense into him. I watched warily as he swayed, ready to catch him if he showed the slightest sign of fainting, but he willfully stood his ground.

"Okay," I said, "You're doing great. How are you feeling?"

The hobbit raised his eyes to meet mine, took a deep breath, opened his mouth…

…and threw up all over the ground. I leaped back just in the nick of time, avoiding the worst of the splatter as Bilbo fell to his knees, retching. _Well, _I thought wryly,_ I guess that answer's _that _question._

oooOOOooo

It took a good five minutes for Bilbo's stomach to finally run dry. I hovered at his side the whole while, awkwardly patting his back, unsure of what else I could do. I'd never been very good at comforting people and watching the hobbit as he heaved up his dinner was making me extremely uncomfortable. I briefly considered the verbal approach, but couldn't think of anything soothing to say. Showing weakness was a big no-go on my list, so being confronted with someone _else's _weakness was nothing short of unsettling. Nothing like this would ever have gone down in Slytherin.

Fortunately, the hobbit's vomiting fit seemed to help him gain back a little of his composure and restore the use of his vocal cords. "Wh-what did you do?" he spluttered, gingerly accepting my hand and pulling himself to his feet. His still looked a little shaky, but some of the color was returning to his cheeks.

I chose my words carefully. "What exactly do you remember?" Was it too much to hope that he had blanked out? I had barely apparated five feet. Maybe I could convince him that I'd dragged us out of the way. But as I saw the hobbit blanch slightly, I realized there was no way he could have lost consciousness during my stunt. He had felt the unnaturally long jump through space, although thankfully he had been spared from the nasty side-affects.

He licked his dry lips. "The troll was about to crush us and then…" he trailed off, unable to formulate an accurate description of what he'd experienced. "It-it felt like…" He shuddered. "How did we _move?_"

_Lie to him. _I pushed the instinctive thought away. No. Lying at this stage would only tip him off and I couldn't afford to make him any more suspicious. One word of this to Thorin would be enough to bring me down. The best I could hope for was to make an ally out of him. _He doesn't need the whole truth. Just enough to satisfy his curiosity._

I selected my words cautiously. "We…apparated. Meaning that we disappeared from one place and reappeared in another. It's hard to explain. But listen," I got down on one knee so as to be on eye level with him and spoke urgently. "Listen to me Bilbo, this is important." I latched onto his gaze. "You can't tell the others. _Especially_ Thorin."

The hobbit looked confused and a little alarmed. "Why not?"

I bit back my frustration and took a leap of faith, something I was very unaccustomed to doing. "Because…it would mean trouble. For me. You heard what they think about…witches."

I held my breath as I watched the words sink in. Bilbo's eyes widened slightly. "You're a _witch?_"

I rose to my feet. "Yes. Promise you won't say anything. To anybody. Not even the wizard."

"But-"

"But nothing," I growled, suddenly impatient. The part of my brain dedicated to survival was screaming at me to take control. _This isn't going to work, Cass! You can't trust him to keep quiet about something like this. _As usual, it prevailed. I had to find another way to insure myself of his silence.

_Fear is a good motivator._

I quickly modeled my face into a mask of cold, detached indifference, letting the Slytherin inside me take over. When I spoke again, my voice was low and menacing. "You've seen what I can do. You know what I'm capable of. Tell no one." I loomed over him. "I just saved your life Bilbo Baggins. Don't make me regret it."

I don't know what I'd expected. The hobbit had been lagging behind from day one and despite Gandalf's continued assurance that it was in his blood, Bilbo clearly wasn't cut out for an adventure of this scale. It was pretty obvious that, given the opportunity, he would leap at the chance to return to the comfort of his hobbit-hole. So I assumed that the not-so-subtle threat from my part would be enough to zip his mouth closed. I guess I should have known better than to underestimate him.

Whatever scenario I'd anticipated, none of them featured Bilbo standing his ground, a thoughtful expression on his face. He tilted his head and gave me a quick, scrutinizing glance over. "How old are you?" he asked suddenly.

_Huh?_ I raised my eyebrows at the unexpected change of subject. "Didn't you hear a word I just said?"

"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. His brows furrowed slightly. "Nineteen? Twenty?"

"Eighteen," I replied, completely baffled as to where this was going. "Why does it matter?" Of all the troubling topics that had been raised by the dwarves since our departure – gender, fighting skills – my age had never been an issue. I had chalked it up to the fact that Middle-earth seemed to be akin to a medieval society where children became adults very early in their life. Moreover, I couldn't for the life of me determine the ages of each of the dwarves (I'd been shocked to learn that Kili was almost fifty years old). Maybe it was just as difficult for them to determine _my_ age as I was for me to guess _theirs_. Besides, it wasn't as if I considered myself as a child – seventeen was the age at which a young witch or wizard became an adult – and as far as I was concerned, my youth had been cut short when I got caught up in the war, as it had been for all those of my generation.

Bilbo looked surprised. "Only eighteen? That's quite young. We Shire-folk consider thirty-three to be the proper number for a hobbit to become of age." His face took on curious expression. He seemed to be seeing me in a new light, and it wasn't intimidating him. "Why…?" He trailed of when he saw my expression, his face melting into a carefully neutral look.

I was seething, fists clenched in indignant rage. I would have liked nothing better than to pound the hobbit into a pulp if I hadn't already gone through all the trouble to keep him alive. I hated this. Hated that I couldn't tell what was going through Bilbo's mind, hated that I was rapidly losing control of the situation, _hated_ the fact that the hobbit now had the upper hand over me. How could I be so stupid to find myself in this situation? I glared and was about to hiss some snarky retort, when I saw something flash across Bilbo's face that stopped me short. Concern? Sympathy? Whatever it was, it had disappeared in a flash as he cleared his throat, stepped around me and started walking away.

"Hey!" I called after him, suddenly alarmed. Where was he going? Wasn't he even going to try blackmailing me before giving me up to the king? "We're not done talking here!"

He paused and shot me a puzzled look from over his shoulder. "Yes we are. You asked me to keep quiet about this whole affair and I shall. No need for threats." He smiled apologetically. "Forgive me Cassie, but you don't strike me as the type to harm a friend."

I watched his retreating figure in open-mouthed astonishment. _This has to be some sort of trick._ How could he want nothing in exchange for his silence? Didn't he realize what he had over me?

I replayed his words in head, trying to discern a hidden meaning. _'You don't strike me as the type to harm a friend.' _Was that what he wanted? For me to be his friend? I gaped at the thought. _Is that all he wants? I play nice and everything goes back to the way it was before the whole troll incident?_ The dwarves would politely ignore us once more, the wizard would go back to being his cryptic self, and Bilbo would persevere in his attempts to get into my good books.

Except now I had no choice but to let him.

oooOOOooo

**Gah! This was a tough chapter to write. **

** Thanks to all those who reviewed my last chapter. I hope this one wasn't too much of a letdown if you were expecting some kind of big, dramatic confrontation. It's just that I don't think it would be coherent for Cassie to spill her guts right away. As for Bilbo, he's from the Shire. I don't think he's been subjected to all this superstitious nonsense about witches the same way as Thorin and the company has. He doesn't see a problem with Cassie being a witch, but of course, she's too wrapped up in her own mistrust to see that. **_***Sigh* **_**Will she **_**ever**_** see that not everyone's actions are guided by interior motives?**

** Please let me know what you think in your reviews!**

**The next chapter will have more action in it. I just wanted to show how Cassie would react to the fact that she no longer has full control over the situation. Bilbo is now in on her secret, and it's scaring the hell out of her ^^**


	10. Hunter and Hunted

**Hunter and Hunted**

I poked at the chunk of ear gloomily. _Nothing to be done_. There were spells that could fix this kind of thing, but I didn't know any, and it wasn't as if I could just waltz into St Mungo's and ask the healers to grow my ear back for me. _Still_, I thought, _It could have been worse. You could have lost a kidney, or a lung. Ears are expendable. _I examined the lump of flesh more closely. It wasn't even a _whole_ ear – just a good half, including the lobe. _I'll never be able to wear matching earrings again. Damn shame._

It had been a good fifteen minutes since Bilbo had left the clearing. I knew the company was probably wondering what the hell was taking me so long to join them now that the hobbit had recovered from his temporary break-down. Truth was, I was stalling. Yes, the hobbit wad sworn to keep quiet, but that didn't mean that I wasn't a _little_ freaked at the way our conversation had ended. My mind was still reeling from the fact that everything had gone so…_well_. Bilbo's last question was especially confusing. Did he somehow think that my "young" age made me incompetent? If that were the case then I'd have to set the record straight as soon as possible. It was bad enough that the dwarves considered me as a hindrance without receiving this kind of treatment from my newly-appointed (and much unwanted) sidekick too.

_Uhrg_. The sudden readjustment in our relation was going to take some getting used to.

I didn't really know what to do with the sticky piece of meat. I sighed as I considered my options. I couldn't take it with me, but then, the idea of leaving here in the clearing wasn't terribly pleasing either. I hated the thought of it rotting slowly away. _That's if a scavenger doesn't find it first. _The prospect of having a little bit of me – however small it might be – chanced upon and digested by some carnivore was even more disturbing. Burying it wouldn't help if the animal was determined enough, or alerted by the scent of blood.

_You could try burning it. Use magic._ The idea of attempting to cast again filled me with eagerness, as well as trepidation at the thought of failure. Right now my spirits were soaring from my success at aparating, but what if botched up my next shot at magic? I didn't want to relive the past two week's frustration all over again.

_Nothing ventured, nothing gained. _I gingerly lifted the piece of ear of the ground and, ignoring a shiver of repulsion, dropped it into my palm. If felt cold and clammy. _Ew_.

I closed my eyes and focused. I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter that much, that if I failed, I'd find another way, but to no avail. I knew how important this was and couldn't persuade myself otherwise. All my hope, all my faith rested on this spell. If I couldn't get it to work, then…but no. This _would_ work. It had to.

I breathed in deeply, letting the air fill my lungs, chasing away all my doubts, and tried to find something within me that hadn't been there before. My magic hadn't just appeared out of thin air. It had been there the whole time, dormant. When the troll had attacked me, I had drawn on it without even realizing. I could do it again – I just needed to figure out _how_ I'd done it before.

I took my time, breathing in and out, in and out, until finally, I felt something. A faint tingling in my chest. I scarcely dared utter the incantation for fear I'd fail, as if, in fumbling just this once, my magic would somehow vanish, never to be recovered.

"_Inflamare."_

When, at first, nothing happened, a wave of disappointment threatened to overcome me, but I quickly recovered when I realized that the tingling was still there, slightly stronger than before. I sucked in breath and started again, before the feeling could fade, "_Inflamare_." Again it intensified.

Encouraged by this, I launched into a chant, "_Inflamare, inflamare, inflamare, inflamare…_"pouring all my emotion and conviction into that one word, until I could no longer feel the incantation leaving my throat, could only hear the sound of my voice echoing around me, charged with longing, frustration and ambition. Again and again I repeated the spell. Sweat started beading at my brow, trickling down my temples. My ear began to pulse painfully again. Then, _finally_, I felt the first, small, rush of power as the tingling shifted from my chest, slowly migrating down into my arms, my forearms, my palms, and still I repeated the words, terrified that if I stopped, even for a second, it would all disappear.

"_Inflamare, inflamare, inflamare…"_

There was a sizzling sound, accompanied by the scent of burning meat, and I opened my eyes. The chunk of ear was still sitting in my palm, but the flesh was starting to look a little charred in some places, black smoke curling in the air. I felt a surge of victory and pressed on. _"Inflamare, inflamare, inflamare..."_ My voice rose to a crescendo, waves of heat were pulsing down my arms, into my palms.

_"Inflamare, inflamare, inflamare…"_

I yelped, dropping the piece of sizzling flesh as it suddenly became too hot to handle. It fell to the earth, blackened and shriveled.

I stared, unable to quite wrap my head around what had just happened. Then a burst of hysterical laughter escaped my lips, and suddenly I was on my feet, whooping victoriously, punching the air with my fist in mad glee. "Ha!" I shouted, gesturing to an invisible audience. "Did you see that?" If any of the dwarves happened to walk in on my little celebration, they would defiantly think me crazy, but I was too elated to care.

The past two weeks had been a blur of stress and uncertainty. I don't think I'd realized just how miserable and crippled I'd felt by the loss of my wand, trapped as a muggle, forced to act a role that didn't suit me. Now, against all odds, I had managed to cast a spell. Sure, it had taken me over fifteen minutes and an insane amount of concentration, and even then, all I'd done was fry a piece of flesh the size of my pinky finger, but still, it was a _start_. I had proven to myself that wandless magic was possible. It would take a lot of time and a fair amount of practice, but eventually, I was certain my efforts would pay off. I grinned, delighted beyond words. I was no longer helpless, no longer a burden.

I was a witch once more.

oooOOOooo

Even though I had wiped the daft grin of my face, I was unable to lose the spring in my step as I made my way through the woods, in the direction of the troll's cave. I had retrieved my satchel from the outskirts of the clearing where it had fallen before Bert had spied me in the shadows, and it was now bouncing rhythmically at my side. I felt so flooded with euphoria that my troubling conversation with the hobbit had almost slipped my mind.

I sobered up a little though when I heard voices up ahead indicating that I was nearing the cave. The trees were thinning and I saw a giant rock producing from the earth. The dwarves were bustling about a gaping hole at the base of the rock (I assumed it was the entrance to the troll's lair), rifling through the treasures they'd discovered. I tried to keep a straight face as I approached, but was unable to hold it for very long.

Bofur glanced up as I neared him. If he was alarmed by the sight of my mangled ear and bloodied clothing, he showed no sign of it. His brows furrowed as he took in my smug expression. "What in Durin's name has gotten you in such a good mood?"

"Nothing," I said, even though I was radiating self-satisfaction with every step. "Just glad to be alive. It's cool that the trolls didn't eat us or anything. That would have sucked."

The dwarf frowned. "What has the temperature got to do with our survival, Miss Morgan?"

I waved the question away. "Just an expression we use at home."

I suddenly noticed that there was a stranger in our midst. "Hey, who's that?" I pointed to the eccentric-looking man who was in deep conversation with Gandalf. He was slightly shorter than the wizard and clad in various shades of brown. Like Gandalf, the stranger had a long wild beard and was leaning heavily on a staff. "What did I miss?"

Bofur straightened his hat. "That's Radagast the Brown. He arrived just a few moments before you did – very confused, the poor fellow."

I tilted my head. "The tree-hugger?" I asked, remembering Gandalf's lecture on wizards in Middle-Earth the previous day. I frowned. "Isn't he supposed to be guarding some forest in the east? What's he doing here?"

Bofur shrugged. "Wizard business, I'd imagine. He came in search of Gandalf."

Another wizard? _What a small world._ I glanced at the dwarf at my side, but Bofur's attention had already been diverted. He didn't seem to be in least bit curious at this new arrival. I couldn't say the same for myself. If this hippy-wizard had gone through all the trouble of tracking our band down in the middle of nowhere just to consult with Gandalf, then he must have brought some pretty disturbing news. The old man's face was grave as he listened to his fellow wizard's agitated ramblings. Whatever Radagast was telling him, it was bad.

I strode towards them, giving the hobbit a wide berth as I passed him by. I wasn't ready to confront him yet, not while I was still puzzling through our last exchange. Bilbo didn't look up as I walked past, too engrossed in his examination of a fine-looking sword incased in a leather sheath. I vaguely wondered how he'd gotten hold of it and hoped to god he wouldn't find a creative way to skewer himself with the blade by accident.

As I arrived within earshot of the two men, I heard the brown wizard say, "– from out of the darkness, a necromancer has come." He twitched and glanced around nervously, as if alarmed by his own words. "Sorry," he muttered, twisting his fingers frantically. His eyes were wide and slightly mad-looking, as if he'd missed several nights of sleep.

"Try a little old toby," Gandalf said, wiping the tip of his pipe in his beard before passing it to Radagast. The brown wizard took a long puff, filling his lungs with smoke. His eyes crossed slightly and he seemed to relax a little.

"I sure hope that's not Pot he's smoking." Radagast started at the sound of my voice, white fumes billowing from his nostrils. I planted myself before the two men, arms crossed. "'Cause he looks high enough as it is."

"Gandalf looked at me disapprovingly. He seemed vaguely irritated by my interruption. "Cassie," he sighed, "Now is hardly the time for your witticisms, especially if no one but you can understand them." He glanced towards the lively group of dwarves. "Why don't you ask Oin to take another look at your ear?"

I shot him a withering look. "My ear's fine. But thanks for showing your concern, gramps." I turned my attention to Radagast, who was observing the exchange nervously, and thrust out my hand. "Hello. I'm Cassie Morgan."

Radagast hesitated, gazing down at my palm, mirroring my gesture uncertainly. I seized his outstretched hand and shook it vigorously.

"What's a necromancer?" I asked as soon as I'd released Radagast from my grip. The brown wizard gazed at his hand bewilderedly, as if amused by my antics.

"Miss Morgan," Gandalf addressed me formally, and there was no mistaking the annoyance in his voice. "Such matters should not be discussed so openly. Radagast came to seek my council, bearing ill news."

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, _he's_ the one who brought it up. So what are they?" I couldn't help feeling a little smug as Gandalf pinched the bridge of his nose, a pained expression on his face. _Payback for the whole troll fiasco_. If he hadn't taken his sweet time splitting the boulder, I might still have two whole ears.

"Gandalf," Radagast's whispery voice cut through the silence, commanding the wizard's attention once more. He pulled a long object wrapped in a pale cloth from the inside of his dirty cloak, handling it cautiously, as if it might burn him.

I moved closer as Gandalf took the article from Radagast, curiosity getting the better of me. Gandalf didn't seem to notice. His attention was now entirely focused on the object he was carefully unraveling. Once it was uncovered, the old man did a double-take, staring at the blackened dagger in his grasp. It was a cruel, cold looking weapon.

"That is not from the world of the living." Radagast's eyes were charged with meaning as he stared intently at his fellow-wizard.

I gazed at the dagger in fascination. It seemed to suck the heat and light out of everything around it. There was no denying its magical properties. "What in Merlin's name–" I started to ask, but my question was cut short as a sharp, raspy howl sounded from a short distance away, drowning out the dwarves' racket.

Gandalf and Radagast both glanced up, and in an instant the dagger had disappeared into the folds of Gandalf's cloak. The old wizard met my questioning gaze with a hard stare. "Do not speak of what you just witnessed. Swear on your blood that this shall remain between us." His expression left no room for arguments.

I licked my dry lips. "Yeah, sure, I swear it. I won't tell anyone." _So many secrets._

The company blurred into motion around us. "Was that a wolf?" Bilbo asked quickly, his eyes wide. "Are there wolves out there?"

Bofur stepped in front of the hobbit, holding his weapon close to his chest, tense gaze roaming the clearing. "Wolfs?" he asked. "No, that is not a wolf."

Something massive launched into the clearing, landing several feet away from the hobbit. Bilbo shouted and staggered back, tripping over his own feet and landing in a panicked heap on the ground. It was a monstrous thing, the size of a hoarse, all black with scattered tufts of rough fur. The beast snarled and pounced.

Thorin's blade sliced through the air, embedding itself deep within the monster's skull. It fell in a crumbling heap, just as a second beast leaped into view. This time it was Kili's arrow that shot it down, striking it in the eye with deadly precision. Dwalin finished the creature off with a heavy blow to the head.

There was a moment's shocked silence, then –

"Warg scouts!" Thorin shouted, pulling his sword from the monster's corpse. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind!"

"Orc pack?" Bilbo exclaimed shrilly as he scrambled to his feet.

"Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?" Gandalf questioned urgently, striding forwards.

Thorin's gaze darkened. "No one."

"Who did you tell?" The wizard demanded, voice rising angrily.

"No one, I swear!"

"Guys?" All heads swiveled in my direction. I cleared my throat. "Could we argue later? When we _don't_ have a pack of killer dogs the size of thestrals on our tail, howling for our blood?"

"The lass is right," Balin said. "We have to get out of here."

"We can't!" Ori exclaimed as he rushed into the clearing, tripping over his robes in his haste. "We have no ponies! They bolted!"

The dwarves groaned in horror as realization dawned upon us. We had no means of escape. On foot, we didn't stand a chance. These warg-thingies would hunt us down in no time. _Sweet Salazar, can't we ever catch a break?_

Radagast's voice sounded across the clearing, drowning out our panicked shouts. "I'll draw them off!" he cried, gesturing to a rickety-looking wooden sleigh to which twelve freakishly large rabbits were tied. I felt my eyebrows threaten to disappear into my hairline. Merlin, the guy was _stoned_.

Gandalf also seemed to find the idea ridiculous. "These are Gundabad wargs – they will out_run_ you!"

"These are Rhosgobel rabbits!" Radagast retorted, a mad glint in his eye. "I'd like to see them try."

oooOOOooo

"Remind me again _why_ we're letting this nutter distract the bloodthirsty hellhounds?"

Gandalf shushed me. I scowled. The company was hunkered in a line behind a jagged-looking boulder, waiting for a sign that Radagast had succeeded in drawing the orc pack away. As soon as the warg-riders were sufficiently distracted, we would attempt to flee across an open stretch of land, and hopefully escape our fate. So far, all remained silent and I wasn't alone to crack under the strain of waiting. Fili and Kili were fidgeting nervously near the front of the line and Bilbo kept twitching beside me, pale-faced and wide-eyed.

What we were about to attempt was utter madness. The fact that we'd even _considered_ Radagast's plan proved just how screwed-up our situation really was. After all, only a lunatic would agree to let a mentally-unstable, tree-hugging hippy ride away on a makeshift sleigh pulled by a bunch of over-sized bunnies with the assurance that he'd _'lead the vicious creatures away by giving them something to chase', _and still hope to see tomorrow. But what other choice did we have?

A loud baying noise was heard in the distance and I perked up, listening intently. The sound of heavy paws hitting the earth and a shout of "come and get me!" echoed across the plain. The hunt had begun. We readied ourselves, waiting for Gandalf to give us the all-clear. The wizard peeked over the boulder, shoulders tense, and raised his hand, signalling us to get ready to bolt.

Something whizzed past our boulder, closely followed by a pack of howling wargs. I squinted as they sprinted away, trying to make out their riders. When Gandalf had told me that orcs were a subspecies of elves, I'd imagined them as something like vicious gnomes – dangerous, but not particularly intimidating. The warg-rider, however, was bigger, uglier, and a hell of a lot more frightening than a gnome.

Before I could let that impair my already thinning confidence, Gandalf leaped to his feet and motioned us forwards with a cry of, "Come on!" and we scrambled from behind the boulder.

The next few minutes were a ghastly game of cat and mouse. We ran from rock to rock in a single file, driven by the sound of snarling wargs in the distance. Every now and then Thorin would bark at us to "_get down_!" and we would throw ourselves to the ground until the danger passed.

It quickly became clear that Radagast's plan was _not_, as I'd come to expect, to lead the orc pack away, but rather to confuse them by having them chase him around in circles. That meant that he kept bringing the wargs treacherously close our company only to whizz away at the last minute, jeering loudly as they tried to keep up. Every time he did this, my heart hammered loudly in my chest and I cursed under my breath, certain that the orcs would spot us crouching behind the rocks. One time, they passed right in front of us and Thorin hastily motioned for us to halt. We froze, weapons raised, but the wargs only rushed by, Radagast's cries egging them on.

After a while of this my heart was beating erratically and I was gasping for breath, clutching my sides. The dwarves showed no sign of tiring, and I quickly fell to the back of the line. Even Bombur was faring better than me. My head was spinning, my thoughts a muddled haze of _run, breath, run, breath, run, breath…_ Once I tripped, only to be hurled to my feet again by the nearest dwarf who squeezed my shoulder and urged me to keep going.

I soon stopped trying to guess which direction the old man and Thorin were leading us, and merely followed mechanically, my body aching with exhaustion. My head had started pounding, my right ear throbbing painfully again. I kept my gaze fixed on Bilbo's red coat and tailed him blindly, praying that the hobbit knew where we were going. When Thorin shouted at us to hide, I hid. When he motioned us to start running again, I ran.

"Here! Here!" Gandalf cried suddenly, waving us behind yet another boulder. I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, glad for the chance to gather my bearings. I expected the wizard to urge us on immediately once the orcs had passed us by, but he remained crouching, his sword raised in a defensive posture. I glanced around to see that the dwarves had assumed similar positions. Their gazes were turned upwards, towards the rock, where a scuffling sound could be heard from the other side.

I frowned in confusion, my head still pounding dizzily, trying to make sense of the noise. It was only when I saw Gandalf and Thorin exchanging wary glances that I realized that one of the wargs had separated itself from the pack and was approaching fast. Something had caught its attention.

"Has it smelled us_?"_ I hissed to Bofur, who was closest, and he gave me a quick glance. "How does it…" I began, but trailed off when I noticed the colour draining from his face. "What?" I whispered.

"Cassie," he murmured, his voice laced with horror. "Your _ear_."

My hand leaped up to feel the right side of my head, which had been aching ever since the beginning of our escape. It felt damp and sticky again. I glanced down at my clothes and saw that they were stained with fresh blood. With dawning horror, I let my gaze trail over the path I'd scrambled across to crouch behind the boulder. Several blotches of crimson were splattered here and there. No doubt similar splotches were dashed all along our route, leaving a clear trail. I felt sick.

It wasn't _something_ that had caught the warg's attention. It was _someone_.

My blood. My scent. _Me_.

"Oh, _shit_."

By then, most of the dwarves had caught on to what was happening and were staring at my bloodied ear in dismay. Fili was the first to break the silence, eyes flashing angrily. "The girl is leading them straight to us!"

The scuffling sound grew louder and the orc's grating voice could be heard from beyond the rock. We froze, hardly daring to breath.

Bilbo had turned a nasty shade of grey. "What do we _do_?" he squeaked.

I felt my mouth run dry as I met Thorin's hard gaze. We both knew what had to be done. It was _my_ blood that had alerted the warg, mine alone. Doubtless it hadn't yet detected the scent of dwarf, or the orc would have sounded the alarm. But it was only a matter of seconds before it realized that the pack was chasing the wrong quarry. And then the game was over.

I tightened my grip on my short sword. Yes, I knew what had to be done. Lead the pack away. Give the dwarves a chance to escape. It was the brave, selfless, _Gryffindor_ thing to do.

But I wasn't a Griffindor.

The warg snarled and I pressed myself against the rock, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding with my hand. My brave streak had vanished just as fast as it had come. I couldn't do this. Yes, I'd faced off with the trolls earlier, but that had not been by choice. I would have remained skulking in the shadows if Burt hadn't forced me from my hiding place. It takes a different kind of bravery to consciously throw yourself in harm's way, knowing full well that your chances of survival are slight.

I couldn't be that person, and we were all going to die because of it.

Thorin's eyes grew cold as he saw me make my decision and, for a second, I resented my weakness. I wanted to convey to him how utterly sorry I was for this whole mess, but he was already looking away, towards the sound of the approaching warg.

The king motioned for Kili to ready his bow. His youngest nephew nodded, slowly drawing an arrow form his quiver. We waited with baited breath as the warg's ugly head appeared over the boulder. Then Kili leaped into action, jumping out from our hiding place and firing his arrow at the rider's head. But in his haste, he missed, hitting the warg's foreleg instead. It crumpled noisily to the ground, howling and withering in pain. The orc scrambled out of the saddle, drawing its weapon, but Balin stuck it down before it could do any damage while the other dwarves silenced the warg.

In the distance, answering howls could be heard. The pack was moving fast towards our band, alerted by the warg's shrieks.

"Move!" Gandalf shouted, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. "Run!"

We lurched into motion once again, this time in a full out sprint across the plain. The wargs gave chase. It was impossible to pinpoint their exact location – howls were erupting from all around.

"There they are!" Fili shouted as he spied one of the wretched creatures cutting us off ahead, and we veered right, following Gandalf's cry of, "This way, quickly!"

I fell behind once more, despite the fact that my legs were longer than anyone else's save for the wizard who was leading the way. I drew my short sword, determined not to go down without a fight. But Thorin had us stopping short once again. I felt my stomach drop when I realized why.

We were surrounded.

The dwarves spread out, weapons drawn. Kili fired another arrow at the closest warg-rider, striking it in the throat. It fell, only to be replaced by two more. It was no good, there were too many of them. They outnumbered us.

"Where's Gandalf?" someone shouted. I glanced around to see that the old man had vanished.

"He's abandoned us!"

My hands started shaking, my palms sweaty, slipping on the hilt of my sword.

"Hold your ground!" Thorin roared.

Slowly, as the wargs began descending, we inched closer into a circle, guarding each other's backs. They drew nearer, snarling.

"This way, you fools!" _Gandalf_. I whirled around and found the wizard, who appeared to be sticking halfway out of a rock. He gestured at us to follow. "There is a passageway!" He disappeared once more.

We needn't be told twice. As the wargs charged, we sprinted for the opening, all save Kili, who was covering our retreat. One by one the dwarves dropped out of sight into the gap at the foot of the rock. Thorin swung his blade, slashing at one of the approaching beasts. "Kili!" he shouted. The dark haired dwarf fired one last arrow and turned, dashing towards the opening.

We reached the gap in the rock at the same time and leapt inside together, sliding to the bottom and landing in a tangled heap besides Gandalf, who was brushing the dirt off his robes. Thorin soon followed and the dwarves quickly formed a defensive line before the opening, in case one of the orcs tried to follow. I was shoved unceremoniously to the back with Bilbo.

A trumpet blast echoed from a distance, accompanied by the steady beating of hooves. Through the stone opening, there came the sounds of battle.

"Who the _heck_ is that?" I muttered, swaying a little on my feet. I hadn't felt this exhausted in ages.

Suddenly, an orc toppled through the entry, falling dead at our feet. I resisted the urge to throw up and edged away, only to find that the cave went on farther back than I'd first expected.

Thorin pulled the arrow from the orc's corps and examined the tip. "Elves," he spat, throwing it to the ground.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads," Dwalin called from farther down the cave. "Do we follow it or not?"

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur said, striding forwards. The rest of the company followed eagerly, glad to be out of the heat of the fight.

Above our heads the battle raged on. I didn't know who had saved us or why. _It doesn't matter, _I realized. If it helped cover our escape, I didn't care.

oooOOOooo

**Feedback is welcome!**


	11. Shoulder the Blame

** I'm aware that **_**technically **_**no one speaks English in Middle-Earth, But Cassie doesn't know that.**

**Shoulder the Blame**

The slim passageway delved deep into the mountain, twisting and turning in the gloom. Soon the sounds of battle faded into the distance and were replaced with an oppressing silence, occasionally broken by the _drip drip dripping_ of water trickling down the side of the stone. Once or twice, the rock above would narrow down and we were forced to hunker (at least, Gandalf and I were. The dwarves and Bilbo faced no such problems). Eventually, the ceiling opened up in a jagged crack, revealing the sky above.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I smelt fresh air ahead. My ear was becoming sore to the touch and I was pretty sure the wound was swelling. _It must be coated with grime from all the times you threw yourself down into the dirt. You need to get it tended to. _I made a mental note to ask Oin to look for infection as soon as we stopped for the night. Unlike the majority of the other dwarves, the old healer didn't seem to be giving me the cold shoulder, probably because he knew just how easily head wounds bled and that without proper treatment, they were hard to staunch.

"Don't let it worry you lassie," he said when he noticed my dejected look. "There was nothing you could have done. At least no one was harmed." He patted my arm reassuringly before speeding up his pace and moving towards the front of the line.

I watched him go gloomily, guilt twisting my gut. There _was_ something I could have done.

_Don't be stupid_, I scolded myself, pushing the emotion away. _Distracting the warg would only have gotten you killed. Remember what happened the last time you put your life on the line for someone else? _I shook my head sharply as the memories threatened to resurface. There was only so much I could deal with at the moment._ You're not a hero Cass. Don't you ever forget that. _

Distantly, I heard the sound of a waterfall and knew that we were nearing the end of the tunnel. Ahead, the chasm widened. Sunlight streamed through, brightening the passageway. I quickened my pace. Bilbo and the dwarves stood at the mouth of the crevice, staring out into the valley beyond. I halted at Gandalf's side and followed their gazes. My jaw dropped.

"Bloody _hell_," I murmured.

The valley was bathed in light, the sun reflecting of the river below in pale shimmers, giving the impression of liquefied gems. On the opposite side of the mountain, delicate structures were assembled, evenly distributed amongst the sloping rocks. I could make out small paths and bridge ways connecting the buildings, which almost seemed to have been crafted from a dream. The whole scenery breathed peace and tranquility. It was impossible to think that something as vile as an orc pack could have been hunting for us a mere three hundred feet away.

Gandalf smiled and stepped forwards. "The valley of Imladris," he said, gesturing to the scene below. "In the common tongue, it is known by another name."

"Rivendell," breathed Bilbo, awestruck.

I perked up at this. I seemed to recall the old man mentioning this place before the troll attack, a million years ago. What had he said again? _'__You may see it, if Thorin decides to set his grudges aside.'_ My eyes swept over the dwarves, who were all shifting uncomfortably, shooting wary glances at their leader. I could see _why_.

Thorin was glaring at the Gandalf in silent rage. "This was your plan all along," he said stiffly, turning away from the beautiful scenery to face the wizard. "To seek refuge with our enemy."

_Enemy? What enemy? _

"Who lives down there?" I asked.

"Elves," Thorin spat. His animosity towards the small, docile creatures must have been strong because he deigned to meet my eyes while formulating his response. _Damn_. He seemed to hate them even more than he hated _me_. _Do wonders never cease?_ What had house-elves ever done to him to merit this kind of hostility anyway? Serve him cold tea? Forget to iron his socks?

Gandalf sighed. "You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself."

Thorin's scowl grew more pronounced. "You think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us."

"Um, not to sound overly confident," I interrupted, "But_ how_ exactly could they stop us? Can't their masters just forbid them from coming near us?"

Thorin shot me an incredulous look. He seemed to be trying to determine whether or not I was mocking him.

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Of course they will try to stop us. But we have questions that need to be answered." He readjusted his grip on the staff, eyes sweeping sternly over the band of dwarves, who were all looking into the valley below with various degrees of mistrust. "If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact. And respect." He gave me a pointed look. "And no small amount of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me." And with a swish of his cloak he strode past the dwarves, down the narrow path leading to Rivendell.

I hesitated, then scrambled after him, falling in step beside the old man. We hadn't gone far before the trampling of boots on stone reached our ears, accompanied by the sound of the dwarves grumbling in their own tongue.

The hike down the winding trail was a pleasant one. I certainly enjoyed it, despite the fact that the king's dark mood hung morosely over our heads like a thunderstorm.

"What's Thorin's problem with elves?" I whispered to Gandalf as we reached a narrow bridge stretching over a deep chasm. There were no railings to keep us from toppling over the edge, but he wizard marched across without showing the slightest fear of falling. I proceeded with more caution, peering down into the gully at the river flowing swiftly beneath our feet. I gulped and crossed the rest of the way without looking down.

Gandalf waited until I had joined him on the other side of the chasm before answering, glancing first towards the rest of the company to make sure that no one could overhear us. The rushing of the river drowned out his voice and I had to lean in close to hear what he was saying. "On the day the dragon attacked, the dwarves sought the aid of the woodland elves to defend Erebor. Their plea for help went unanswered. Had Thranduil mobilized his forces, Smaug might have been defeated and the city saved. Ever since that day, Thorin has nursed a strong feeling of resentment towards their race."

"Who's Thrandin?"

"Thran_duil_," Gandalf corrected, emphasizing the last syllable, "is the Elvenking."

The elves had a _king_? The thought of one of the little creatures sitting on a miniature throne, an oversized crown precariously balanced on its wrinkly forehead suddenly filled my mind and I fought back a snicker. Hey, I'd had a stressful day. Under the circumstances the idea of house-elf royalty seemed both absurd and laughable to me. I sobered up a little when we reached a pair of magnificent and imposing statues erect on either side of the bridge. I had to hand it to the elves, they sure had a good sense of style. I vowed that if I ever made it back home, I would have a word with Professor McGonagall about letting them redecorate the school.

The bridge ended in a large circular courtyard with a flight of stairs at the far end. I slowly revolved on the spot, taking in the scenery with barely concealed wonder. The city was even more breath-taking up close. I could now make out details in the architecture that had not been visible from the mouth of the cave. The dwarves huddled together, muttering in low voices. Bilbo stood a little to the side, his face mirroring my sentiments exactly - although, I hoped I didn't look _quite_ as flabbergasted as the hobbit.

Gandalf seemed to be the only person who was completely at ease with our surroundings. I remembered from our earlier conversation that he had friends in Rivendell and wondered if one of these friends was going to greet us. Right on queue I caught a flash of movement in the corner of my eye and I turned my attention to the far side of the courtyard to see a tall figure slowly approaching.

"Mithrandir!" the stranger called in greeting. The figure descended the stairs with such grace, he almost seemed to glide. I felt my eyebrows jump up into my hairline in shock. Of all the unearthly creatures to cross my path since the beginning of my insane adventure, this was _definatly_ the least expected.

There was no mistaking the beautiful features, the smooth dark hair, the melodious voice, the pale, almost translucent skin. _I didn't know Veela could be male_. I sure as _heck_ hadn't anticipated seeing one _here_ of all places.

I tore my eyes away from the dark-haired man just as Gandalf stepped forwards, smiling warmly. "Lindir!"

The Veela said something I didn't understand. I frowned, trying to recognize strange, musical tongue, but it didn't sound like any language I'd ever encountered.

Gandalf paused before the man and said, "I must speak with Lord Elrond."

The Veela tilted his head and replied in English. "My Lord Elrond is not here."

"Not here," the wizard echoed. "Where is he?"

As if in answer, a horn blared through the air and the thundering of hooves clamored up from behind. I whirled around to see a company of armored men cantering across the narrow bridge.

The dwarves gave a shout of alarm. "Close ranks!" They moved fluently, seizing Bilbo by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out of sight. I felt a sharp tug at my sleeve as Dwalin, who was closest, grabbed hold of my arm and shoved me unceremoniously beside the hobbit. The dwarves formed a tight circle around us, shielding us from danger as the riders surrounded the company. It was nice of them, I suppose, but utterly useless in my case seeing as I was at least a foot taller than the dwarves, and therefore stuck out like a sore thumb.

The dwarves raised their weapons, daring the horsemen to approach.

One of the riders dismounted gracefully, long dark hair rippling with the smooth motion. "Gandalf!" he called.

_Oh great. Another Veela._ My spirits plummeted as I realized that all the horsemen possessed the same, unearthly, breathtaking traits as their leader. I'd never seen so many of them at once. _I thought this place was supposed to be occupied by elves_. I was so thrown that I couldn't even muster up the energy to be surprised at the Veela's ability to speak.

"Lord Elrond!" The wizard smiled, quite unperturbed by the dwarves' hostile behavior. He said something in the unknown language as he strode forwards to embrace the new arrival.

"What is he _saying_?" I hissed to the dwarves. They ignored me.

The Veela – Elrond – responded to Gandalf in the same tongue. "Strange," he added, "for orcs to come so close to our boarders." He gazed accusingly at the old man. "Something, or_ someone_ has drawn them near."

Gandalf looked slightly embarrassed. "That may have been us." He admitted, gesturing to our tight band. Lord Elrond's eyes trailed curiously over the company, pausing on the dwarf king. Thorin slowly stepped forward, dark gaze assessing the taller man warily.

Recognition flashed across the Veela's face. "Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

Thorin's expression was guarded. "I do not believe we have met."

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain."

"Indeed?" The king remained stoic but his voice had taken on an insolent tone. "He made no mention of _you_."

The atmosphere became tense as both dwarf and Veela engaged in a staring contest. It would have been interesting to see which of the two would be the first to break, but my patience was wearing thin. This needlessly dramatic introduction was taking far too much time for my taste.

I cleared my throat loudly, determined to speed things along. "Hi," I said when I was certain I had the Veela's attention. "Nice of you lot to take care of the orc pack for us. I'm Cassie, by the way. Cassie Morgan." I pushed my way past the annoyed looking dwarves and strode to the wizard's side. "You're Elrond, right?"

The Veela raised one eyebrow. "Indeed I am, Cassie Morgan." He tilted his head slightly. "Daughter of…" he trailed off politely, inviting me to fill in the silence.

I felt my face stiffen. "None of your business," I snapped before I could stop myself.

_To hell with my father_. I'd been living in his shadow for as long as I could remember, his infamous reputation preceding me wherever I went. Ever since Seamus Finnigan had confronted me with the truth in the stuffy confinements of the Library, it had become my burden. I didn't care that my father's deeds were unknown to the people of Middle-Earth – the idea having his name associated with mine filled me with revulsion.

There was a moment of shocked silence. Then the first Veela – Lindir – made a choking sound of protest. His face was pinched, as though he'd just licked a lemon. Somewhere in my self-righteous mind, a small voice whispered that I'd just made a huge social blunder. _Oops_.

Gandalf stepped forwards, smiling tensely, and placed a restraining hand on my shoulder. He addressed Lord Elrond apologetically. "Please forgive Miss Morgan for her bluntness." His eyes flashed sternly as he gazed down at me, warning me to shut the hell up. "She hails from a distant land whose civilization differs greatly from our own. You must not begrudge her for her ignorance of our customs."

I expected Lord Elrond to be offended – he'd just been insulted two times by the dwarf king and me in the space of five minutes. But the Veela merely gazed at me in interest, eyes alight with a thousand questions. They were old eyes – i_mpossibly_ old – full of wisdom and knowledge. There was something about his penetrating stare that sent a shiver down my spine. I suddenly felt very small, as if the weight of all that knowledge was crushing me, flattening me against the ground. My heart rate escalated. My palms started to sweat. A sliver of panic rushed through my veins. _He can see me_. I was transparent – my soul laid bare before his eyes, an open book for him to read at his leisure.

And abruptly it was over. Elrond looked away, his face carefully wiped clean of all emotion. A sigh of relief rippled through me as the Veela released me from the force of his gaze. I clasped both hands together and was surprised to find that they were shaking.

"Gandalf," Lord Elrond said. His voice was low and had a slight edge to it, an undercurrent I couldn't fully understand. "What is the meaning of this?"

The old man tightened his grip on my shoulder. "Regrettable, I know, for a young lady to demonstrate such little respect towards her elders." Gandalf's tone was light, devoid of the tension that was radiating from his every pore. He very discreetly twitched his head, gesturing to Thorin who was watching the exchange closely, distrust etched across his features.

Elrond's eyes flitted to the side, taking note of the dwarves' discomfort. He gave a small nod of understanding. The movement was so brief that I wondered if I'd really seen it.

Before I could ponder the matter any farther, Lord Elrond spoke loudly, addressing the company his unknown tongue. _It must be the Veela's language_, I thought. _Strange. I wasn't aware that they have their own dialect._

"What is he saying?" I glanced over my shoulder to see that Gloin had stepped forwards and was glaring at Lord Elrond suspiciously. "Does he offer us insult?" The dwarves backed up his allegation, shouting accusations of their own.

"No Master Gloin," Gandalf said firmly, eyes dancing with amusement. "He is offering you _food_."

The dwarves seemed taken aback. They muttered amongst themselves in dwarvish for a few seconds. "Well, in that case," Gloin finally said, "Lead on!"

"Lindir," Lord Elrond called as the company filed up the flight of stairs. "Would you be so kind as to escort Miss Morgan to the Medical Wing and remain with her while her injury is tended to?"

"No, it's okay, I'm fine" I started to say, but the Veela waved away my protests. Gandalf squeezed my shoulder and left, following Elrond out of sight.

I was left alone with Lindir, who looked as though he'd just been asked to take the dog outside for a walk in the pouring rain. He eyed me distastefully.

I sighed. "Listen," I said, eager to rid myself of the disdainful Veela. "You don't need to take me all the way. Just point me in the right direction and I'll be out of your hair."

This seemed to offend him. "My Lord has requested that I escort you myself, Miss Morgan," he said stiffly. "I hope you are not suggesting that I go against his will?" He didn't wait for a reply and swiftly strode from the courtyard. He paused at the top of the flight of stairs, gesturing me to follow. I hastily obliged.

oooOOOooo

After a few minutes of silent walking I snuck a glance at my guide, who was staring fixedly ahead. He seemed to have taken my earlier insolence to Lord Elrond very personally indeed. I casually tried to break the ice, but received only short monosyllabic answers in exchange for my efforts.

Eventually, I grew tired of our one sided conversation and went for a more direct approach. "Where are the elves?" I asked.

I had not seen a single one since entering Rivendell and was beginning to think that Thorin had largely exaggerated the number of house-elves living in the valley. It was obvious that the Veelas were really the ones to rule over this place – they were probably the elves' masters. This scenario made a lot more sense to me than the one I'd been picturing before, where house-elves were the sole occupants of the city.

My question caught Lindir off guard. He paused and shot me an incredulous look. "_I_ am an elf," he spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable as if he were talking to a simpleton.

I scowled under his patronizing gaze. Who the _heck_ did he think he was kidding. "Yeah, right," I snorted, rolling my eyes, "And I'm a mermaid."

Lindir spluttered indignantly, eyes flashing. He muttered something in his own dialect. I couldn't tell what he was saying, but I'd bet my few measly possessions that it wasn't anything pleasant.

I jutted out my chin defiantly. "What?" I snapped, "You don't think I can recognize a Veela when I see one?"

Lindir's expression was a mixture of irritation and confusion. It seemed as though he were about to retort with a few sharp, well-chosen words, then remembered at the last second that I was a guest of Lord Elrond's and bit down on his tongue. He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, working to calm himself down. _Jeez_. I appeared to have struck a nerve.

"This way if you please," Lindir said stiffly when he'd regained his composure. He made a sharp turn and swept down a dimly lit corridor.

As I hurried after him, I noticed for the first time that something was poking out from beneath the curtain of his lush dark hair. I squinted, trying to make out what it was through the gloom.

My gasp echoed across the corridor as I jerked to a halt. Lindir took a few more steps, then realized I was no longer following and fell back, an annoyed look on his face. "What _now_?" he asked impatiently.

I gaped, unable to quite wrap my head around what I was seeing. I quickly flitted through the short list of things I knew about Veelas. They were nymph-like creatures, beautiful and unearthly. Their melodious voices could charm ever the most uptight of men, but when angered, they transformed into something more like Harpies – their faces turning into cruel-beaked bird heads while long scaly wings burst from their shoulders. I'd seen them at it during the Quidditch World Cup of 1994, where they had been the mascots of the Bulgarian National Quidditch team.

But one thing I knew for _certain_ was that Veelas did not have _pointy ears_.

I gulped, suddenly aware that I _may_ have been a little hasty jumping to conclusions.

Lindir was still gazing at me expectantly.

I raked my brains in search of something witty to say, but all I could come up with was, "_You're_ an elf?"

Hey, I'd had a very long day. I was sleep-deprived from my night spent distracting trolls, exhausted from our close encounter with orc pack. I'd lost at least half a pint of blood and had had nothing to eat since the previous day. So _no_, my mind was not as sharp as I would have liked.

Lindir raised one eyebrow. "Indeed," he said rather coolly. There was an awkward silence.

"I thought you'd be…shorter."

This was not the right thing to say. I reached that conclusion just as Lindir huffed indignantly and strode away without a backwards glance, lustrous hair rippling behind him. I watched his retreating figure for a few seconds, feeling slightly abashed, before coming to my senses and tearing off after him.

We walked the rest of the way in silence.

oooOOOooo

Two hours later, after having been fed, washed and clothed, I came to the conclusion that I _really_ didn't like this world's version of elves. Or maybe it was just Lindir and the two we'd met up with in the Medical Wing that were the subjects of my displeasure. Oh, _sure_, they had taken good care of me. Upon my arrival the female elf had taken one look at my bloodied clothing and rushed me over to one of the beds, speaking rapidly to her male colleague in what I now knew to be elvish. Lindir stood by the door, watching impassively as they examined the wound.

I tried to get the elves to give me a diagnosis in a language I could understand, but they only shushed me and carried on prattling in elvish, poking at my mangled ear from time to time. Occasionally, Lindir would also make a suggestion in elvish from his place by the doorway and the other two would acknowledge his presence, nodding and smiling in his direction.

It was unnerving. The medics continued speaking _at_ me for a good half hour before finally coming to an agreement. Then they set to work. I couldn't see what they were doing but noted the effects of the treatment almost immediately as the skin around my ear stopped feeling so sore and puffy.

At this point, I had given up trying to get them to speak English and was scowling at Lindir, who seemed to be finding my frustration genuinely entertaining .

The female elf then grasped me by the shoulder and led me into a separate room, where a steaming bathtub awaited me. I immediately forgave her for ignoring me up until that point as I stripped off and slid into hot water, relaxing fully for the first time since my arrival in Middle-Earth. Two weeks of riding had left me grimy and sweaty and, judging by the color of the water once I was done washing myself, I must have been filthy.

As I clambered out of the bathtub, I noticed two things. Firstly, my clothes had mysteriously disappeared from the chair where I'd left them. Secondly, they had been replaced by a very formal-looking gown. I wrapped myself in a towel and poked my head through the door - much to the disapproval of the two men - trying to attract the woman's attention. She blanched as she saw me and ushered me back inside the bathroom, stammering excuses on my behalf. Once we were safely behind the door once more, she glared at me and demanded to know what the matter was.

_Ah, progress_. She was talking to me. In English.

"The problem," I said, "is that I can't find my clothes."

She sniffed. "They were drenched in blood and grime." She gestured to the gown. "I have provided you with new clothes."

I raised my eyebrows. "You _do_ know I'm going to be scaling a mountain soon, right?" I lifted the dress of the chair, trying to hide my surprise at the weight of the fabric. _Merlin, how do women manage to get _anything_ done in such heavy garments?_ "Don't you think it would be easier for me to do that in something less…_lacy_?"

When the elf said nothing I sighed and pressed on. "Can't you give me men's clothes?"

She looked appalled. "Certainly not!"

We argued for a few minutes until, _finally,_ she grudgingly accepted my logic and went to fetch me a pair of leggings and a tunic. My efforts were also rewarded by a thick green traveling cloak. _Huzzah_.

I slung my sack over my shoulder and secured the short sword to my belt before saying my goodbyes to the healers and joining Lindir outside the Medical Wing. He gave me a quick glance over, taking in my new clothes with poorly masked disapproval, and motioned for me to follow as he lead me back to the company.

I scowled, preparing myself for another long walk with the condescending elf. I found that I much preferred them when they were submissive.

oooOOOooo

By the time we reached the sunlit balcony where the company had eaten their meal there was hardly anyone left at the table. The dwarves and Bilbo had all wandered away to explore their surroundings. Thorin still remained, seated at the head of the table with Balin to his right, in deep conversation with the old dwarf. Dwalin was also present, sitting a little farther away, examining a stick of celery dismally.

He glanced up as I approached. "_There_ you are!" he exclaimed, gesturing to the seat beside him. "Come. Sit. There's hardly any food left – If you can call all this greenery _food_," he added, throwing the celery stick back on his plate in disgust.

Lindir bowed stiffly and excused himself. I resisted the childish urge to stick my tongue out at his retreating figure. _Stupid jerk._

Dwalin noticed my dejected look as I slid in the seat bested him. "What ails you, lass?"

I glared down at my plate. "The elves are pissing me off."

He snorted. "You and me both, lassie. Far too prissy in my opinion." He let his gaze slide around our lavish surroundings. "We sooner we leave, the better, I say."

I glanced up hopefully. "Any idea when that will be?" You'd think that after our many escapades on the road I'd be begging for a chance to kick back and relax – but truth was, I was feeling just as restless as the dwarves. Rivendell was _too_ calm, _too_ peaceful. I itched to be on the move again.

It was Thorin who answered my question from across the table. "At sunrise, the company will depart for the Misty Mountains." He leant forwards, fixing me with a hard stare. "But _you_ shall be remaining here."

He said it so casually, with such calm assurance that at first, I thought I'd misunderstood. Then I replayed his words in my head and felt my stomach drop down to my toes. I searched the king's eyes, hoping to be mistaken. Thorin gazed back impassively, blind to my distress, and I knew there was no persuading him. His mind was set.

I liked my parched lips. "No." My voice was hoarse, but the king heard me all the same.

His eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"No!" I hadn't meant do shout, but the anger flaring up inside me was so sudden – there was little I could do to stop myself. I dimly realized that I'd jumped to my feet. "You can't leave me behind! Not after everything I've been through over the last fourteen days!"

Thorin's eyes flitted over to Dwalin. "Leave us." Dwalin hesitated, then bowed low and withdrew from the balcony.

The king slowly rose to his feet. I noticed that Balin showed no hint of retreat. The old dwarf, I realized, was not only Thorin's most trusted friend, but also his advisor. _Of course_ he was in on this. It stung a little to realize he'd been plotting with the king behind my back.

Thorin stepped around the table, placing himself before me. It was amazing how, despite our height difference, he still somehow managed to make me feel like I didn't measure up to his boots. When the king spoke, his voice rang with authority. "You placed our company in great danger today. We were almost caught because of you. I cannot risk that happening again."

The accusation was perfectly legitimate – I_ had_ placed them in danger – but when I looked at Thorin's carefully composed expression, I knew it was bullshit. My careless blood spattering was not the reason we were having this discussion. It was a stupid mistake, for sure, but a mistake anyone could have made. Hell, I'd even gained the injury _aiding_ the dwarves.

No. Thorin was leaving me behind for an entirely different reason – one he could not so easily admit to, because he was the only person to have witnessed my internal struggle as we hid from the approaching warg-rider.

He alone had seen me chose my life over the company's.

As I came to that conclusion, I also realized that it was impossible for Thorin to use that argument against me. In doing so he would have to admit to the dwarves that, for a second, he had considered letting me sacrifice myself for the good of the company. And no leader wants that kind of blood on his hands.

I felt my spirits rise. There was still hope. "That was hardly my fault," I argued. "I wasn't the one to suggest making our escape across open ground. Besides, it was only a matter of time before one of the wargs came across our trail, what with the way Radagast was leading them so close. And do I need to remind you _how_ I lost my ear in the first place?" I paused for breath, watching closely as my words took their toll.

Thorin's mouth pressed into a hard line. For a moment he said nothing. Then, just as I was beginning to believe I might have gotten away with it, he spoke again. "Why is your pack here?"

_Huh?_ The question was entirely unexpected. I looked down at my side where the leather bag hung loosely from my shoulder, then glanced uncertainly up at the king. "What?"

"Your pack." Thorin repeated, his face was impassive. "All our belongings were lost when the orcs attacked us. And yet, you still have your pack. Why is that?"

I frowned, raking my memory. How had my belongings survived the flight to Rivendell? All our other supplies had remained at the campsite by the abandoned ruin. There had been no time for us to fetch them before the wargs had found us, and so they had remained behind. But not my pack. Why was that?

_Of course!_ I had taken my belongings with me when I went looking for Gandalf, in case the wizard had decided to leave the company. That, and the fact that I didn't own much to begin with, was the reason my pack was still with me now. But what did that have to do with –

I froze as I realized where this was going.

Thorin spoke, his deep voice filling up the silence. "Before the troll ambush, I went over our supplies with Balin to assess the extent of the damage caused by the rain. I was surprised to notice that your belongings were not amongst the rest of our luggage. You were also missing for some time – I can only assume you were out searching for the wizard." There was suddenly a hint of steel in his tone. "But what I don't understand is why you felt the need to take all your possessions with you. Unless…" He paused, letting the tension build. "Unless you had no intention of returning."

His accusation hit home. For once, I had nothing to say.

My silence seemed to confirm Thorin's suspicions. He nodded to himself and slowly made his way back around the table. "If I cannot trust you to have my back in a perilous situation, then you have no place in this company." I heard the double meaning in his words and knew that he wasn't referring to the troll attack. "_That_ is why I am leaving you behind. Lord Elrond has already assured me that you are welcome to stay in Rivendell for as long as you choose."

For a second, I was stunned. Then anger flared up inside me like wildfire, heating me to my very core. I clenched my fists, gritting my teeth against the rage as it threatened to overwhelm me. Who was Thorin to decide what I could do, where I was to go? How _dare_ he make decisions behind my back and expect me to follow blindly? The feeling of injustice was so strong it clouded my common sense. "And how the _hell_ do you plan to stop me from following anyway?"

Silence. Then Thorin spoke, his voice dangerously low. "Do not overstep yourself, Miss Morgan. I have overlooked your insolence at my expense on countless occasions, but you will not question me in this matter. I am _king_."

"King?" My voice was quivering with fury and, as much as I hated to admit it, _hurt_. I was wounded in my pride and I lashed out the only way I knew how. "You have no land, no throne – just a band of homeless dwarves trailing you around. Tell me Thorin, what _exactly_ are you king of?" Somewhere along the line my brain caught up with my mouth and my eyes widened in alarm.

I caught the hard emotion in Thorin's eyes and felt my gut go cold. A slow, smoldering anger was burning inside him, like hot coals beneath a thin layer of ash. "Balin," he spoke, his voice so soft if I had to strain myself to hear it. "Give me the girl's contract."

I jumped as the old dwarf stirred in his seat, pulling a slip of parchment from inside his pockets. I had almost forgotten he was there. Balin wordlessly handed the parchment to his king who then held it up for me to see.

Thorin kept his hard gaze fixed on me as he carefully gripped the heavy paper in both hands. Then he slowly and purposefully ripped my contract in two. The pieces slipped from his fingers and I stared numbly as they fell to the ground. It was all over.

"Go." I jumped at the king's hard voice. "Get out of my sight." Thorin had turned away and was staring across the valley. I glanced at Balin but the old dwarf simply shook his head, his expression unreadable.

I backed away slowly, breath ragged, heart hammering in my ears – and as I left the balcony, I felt the first flickers of shame.

oooOOOooo

**This one took me a long time to write. I hope everyone stayed in character. Please tell me what you think in your reviews!**

**My next update may take a little longer than usual. I apologize in advance ;)**


	12. A Hobbit's Advice

**Sorry for taking so long to update! And a huge thanks to all those who reviewed my last chapter, they were a blast to read ;)**

**A Hobbit's Advice**

I sometimes wonder what the great Salazar Slytherin would think of his disciples if he could see how far we have fallen in the other houses' esteem. Would he be appalled, dismayed by our exclusion? Would he bow his head in shame, reminiscing the days when Griffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin united together to lay the foundations for what would become one of the greatest Wizarding Schools the world has seen?

No, I don't think so. History dictates that he had his own issues with the other three founders of Hogwarts. Maybe he had once respected their wisdom, perhaps even considered them friends, but over time his beliefs drove a wedge in their relationship. The matter of accepting muggle-borns into the school was a particularly touchy subject. Slytherin strongly believed that only witches and wizards of pure blood should be allowed into Hogwarts. His reasoning caused a great dispute with the other founders, and it eventually resulted in a permanent rift with Gryffindor, leading to Slytherin's departure from the school. He left us a fine souvenir however, one that would plague the school for centuries to come: A secret chamber of his design containing a_ basilisk_. Needless to say that _brilliant_ decision came back to bite us in the ass later. I mean come on, a monster that can only be controlled by the _heir _of_ Slytherin_? He might as well have painted a great big target on all of our foreheads.

The other houses despise us, but I think that deep down, they secretly fear us. Slytherin has produced the greatest number of dark wizards after all, and our reputation leaves something to be desired. My house has a history of twisting its students, molding them into something dark and terrible. I find that ironic. Yes, we are driven. We go to lengths no one would ever consider in order to achieve our goals and, unlike the _honorable_ Griffindors, we're not afraid to get our hands dirty. But _evil_, seriously? We never start out that way. That's not to say that some of us aren't predisposed towards the dark arts – hell, You-know-who was proof of _that_ – but mostly, we're just your average Hogwarts students, the only difference being that we are shunned the second we join Slytherin's ranks. It doesn't matter where we come from or what we've been through – to the other houses, we're all the same; just another snake in the grass, another muggle-hater to be.

For seven years we are treated like boiling cauldrons of pus likely to explode at any second. Seven long years of enduring wary glances, snide comments and disapproving looks. It changes us, makes us more resilient, less caring of what others think. It doesn't matter how hard we try, nothing is good enough, so eventually, we distance ourselves from the other houses and avoid associating with anyone who isn't Slytherin. Nothing personal – it's just easier that way.

But I'm getting off track. My point is that I've been rejected before, and I've never had any trouble moving on. If I'd stopped to listen to every arrogant prick to ever give me a sideways look, I'd never hear the end of it. I have little to gain from wasting my breath trying to pry them away from their idiotic beliefs, not while my time can be better spent elsewhere, pursuing more gratifying goals.

So when Thorin ripped my contract in two, thus ending my collaboration with the company, it should have washed over me like waves on sand, barely rippling my composure. I had never _really_ expected our arrangement to last once I'd outlived my (somewhat limited) usefulness. In retrospective, this sudden turn of event was not all that , I'd even been prepared to ditch the dwarves before the troll attack when I'd thought Gandalf might have gone AWOL, so why did I suddenly feel like a bunch of balloons cut loose, left to drift it the wind? Why couldn't I slip into the calm, collected state of mind with which I usually analyzed my every situation?

My thoughts were a jumbled mess as I stumbled from the balcony. Dwalin was waiting for me in the shade of a huge pillar, examining the delicate artwork carved into the stone with barely concealed disdain. He glanced up as I swept past and called out to me, but I ignored him, speeding up my pace and taking a sharp turn down a narrow path. I barged through a group of elves and pelted down a flight of stairs. I didn't know where my feet were taking me, and didn't care so long as every hurried step carried me farther away from the sunlight balcony and the memory of the Thorin's unforgiving stare.

oooOOOooo

I threw a handful of pebbles and watched as they sored over the edge of the gully into the darkness. A brief second later, a splashing sound reached my ears. I imagined the small stones sinking in the river, snatched up by the powerful current and swept away into deep, unknown waters. The thought caused a shiver to creep up my spine.

Night had fallen over the valley of Imladris. After wandering aimlessly through the stunning architecture for some time I had chanced upon a lush garden overhanging the deep ravine in the lower parts of the elvish city. On any other occasion, the exotic plants and overall harmony of the scene might have left me breath taken, but I was in no mood to enjoy the pleasant landscape. In the deep foliage I found a delicate pergola supporting a climbing vine sheltering a low bench from which a visitor could survey the garden without being seen. That was where I was seated now, lost in my thoughts, occasionally scrambling at my feet for pebbles to throw into the flowing river below.

I had calmed down a little since my confrontation with the dwarf king, enough to slow my galloping heart to a steady beat. The cool night air helped free me from the numbing grip of shock, and I was slowly gathering up my scattered thoughts and rearranging them in an attempt to make sense of my situation. I quickly realized that it was as futile as clutching a handful of sand – the harder I tried, the more confused I became. Anger, humiliation, indignation and shame coursed through my body like a whirlwind, sweeping away all rational thought. My mind was stuck in a loop, replaying over and over the events of the past twenty four hours. When I closed my eyes, the image of Tom's leering face danced behind my pupils. The faint trickling of a nearby fountain sounded like the _splotch splotch sploch_ of blood gushing from my mangled ear. A branch snapped overhead and I jumped, suddenly reminded of the warg crashing its way through the undergrowth.

I suppose you could say I was having a nervous breakdown. Not all that astonishing really – it was long overdue. When I look back on that night, I'm surprised at the fact that I managed to keep it together for so long. The truth is, ever since I'd appeared in the Old Forest two weeks earlier, I hadn't had a second to allow my brain to process exactly what had happened to me. I'd immediately been swept away by the company and faced with a multitude of smaller problems all jumbled together at the same time, clouding my mind from seeing the bigger, much more alarming picture.

I might be _dead_.

The company had become the center of my life for a solid two weeks, the only vestige of sanity left for me to cling to. Now, confronted with the necessity of leaving, I was utterly at sea, with nothing to occupy my thoughts against the waves of panic that threatened to drag me under.

I felt a sob build up inside me and forced it down, clamping a hand over my mouth to prevent its escape. I would not cry. I refused to humiliate myself farther by melting down into a weeping wreck. That, at least, was something I could control.

There was some comfort in that knowledge, and I was suddenly struck by the almost irrepressible urge to laugh. The sob morphed into a giggle and I clamped my hand down harder, willing myself to gain control of my erratic emotions. There was really nothing comical about the situation, but that somehow only made it funnier. My shoulders started to shake. Something hot was blocking my throat.

Somewhere deep inside, I felt myself break.

I was suddenly out of breath, clutching my sides as huge dry gasps shook my whole figure. I honestly couldn't tell if I was laughing of crying. Probably a bit of both. I convulsed, heaving wretchedly, trembling like a leaf in the wind. In that moment, I surrendered myself completely to the blind panic that had been lurking undetected in the back of my mind for so long.

The leaves swayed, billowing slightly in the breeze. Something stirred deep within me, starting in the pit of my stomach, then amplifying, winding its way along my veins, coiling through my limbs. I could _feel_ my magic responding to my distress, rippling through my body in a way I'd never experienced before. It rolled inside me like a sea in storm, lapping at the boundaries of my flesh once, twice…and overflowing. The wind picked up in answer, twisting and twirling unnaturally, whirling around me, reflecting my inner turmoil. Branches creaked. Leaves rustled. My magic whistled, rushing and tumbling with a force that felt harsh and dry. Some small rational part of my brain whispered that I should hold back before it caused any damage, but it was as futile as trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net.

My magic had never manifested itself this way before. I had no control over this.

I slowly raised my eyes, alarmed at the gusting force thrumming in the air – only to find that I wasn't alone.

"_Bilbo!_" I yelped, jumping to my feet, heart hammering in my chest. The sight of him standing a hair's breadth away was enough to shock some sense into me and I felt the unnatural force slowly ebb away like the lowering tide. The wind died almost instantly. My magic receded, fading away once there was nothing left to fuel its power, leaving me hollow inside. My whole body ached of exhaustion and I was suddenly very painfully aware of the fact that I hadn't slept in almost two days.

Bilbo shuffled from one foot to another, looking a little sheepish. His hand was outstretched as if he'd been in the action of reaching out to pat my back when I'd noticed him. Despite my overall sense of surprise, I couldn't help feeling a little impressed at the hobbit's display of stealth. No wonder Gandalf had been so keen to have him in the company.

The silence stretched on awkwardly. Bilbo finally cleared his throat, brushing the front of his coat in an attempt to seem nonchalant. "Hullo," he said, gaze sweeping over our surroundings for something to break the tension. "Lovely weather for a stroll in the gardens isn't it?" he paused, waiting for me to say something. When it became clear that I wasn't he took a deep breath and started speaking very quickly. "I almost wish we could stay a while longer, don't you? I've heard tales of Rivendell and the elves ever since I was old enough to understand them, but I never imagined that I might actually see it one day." His voice raised in pitch. "Then again, if you'd told me a month ago that I'd be trekking across the country with thirteen dwarves to steal gold from a _dragon_, then –"

"Bilbo," I interrupted, cutting through the hobbit's nervous ramblings. "What the hell are you doing here?" I tried to feel annoyed by his intrusion, but couldn't quite muster up the energy. I rubbed my temples, trying to disperse the dull pounding that was slowly building up behind my forehead.

Bilbo gestured around at the gardens. "Taking a moonlit walk. Stretching my legs." He met my gaze steadily, his face the picture of innocence.

I raised an eyebrow, giving him my most withering look. Bilbo held it for a few seconds before looking away sheepishly. "And Bofur may have told me that he saw you heading this way. He said you looked a little…upset," he hesitated, then said, "Balin told us about your disagreement with Thorin."

"Ah." I felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over me at these words. How fast had the news spread within the company? Were they aware of the finer points of our argument, the motivation behind Thorin's decision?

The hobbit bent low and plucked a fallen leaf out of the grass, twirling it between his fingers. "That was quite a draft back there. Did you cause it?"

I glanced down at my feet, noticing for the first time the thick layer of shredded leaves and petals coating the ground. The nearest trees and bushes had a windswept appearance. Several of their branches were almost bare, shamefully skinned of their foliage. _Oops_. My spontaneous bout of magic had caused more damage than I'd thought. I hoped Lord Elrond wasn't too fond of his dogwood trees.

"Yeah, that was me," I said, sinking back onto the bench. Somewhere inside my head a small voiced cried out in protest, warning me against giving the hobbit too much information, but I stifled it. I was too _damn_ tired to work up a convincing lie, and besides, I couldn't really see the point of it. What did it matter what I told Bilbo now? He already had more than enough incriminating information if he wanted to rat me out to Thorin, and it wasn't as if the king's opinion of me could sink any lower than it already had.

Bilbo sat beside me a little hesitantly. "You know, I never quite got the chance to thank you." He paused and shot me a wary glance, as if he were half expecting me to snap back with an angry retort.

I felt a small twinge of guilt at the memory of our last exchange, where I'd openly threatened him. "For what?"

"Pulling me out of the troll's way. I'm still not entirely sure how you did it, but I want you to know I'm grateful, despite the fact that it was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life." He shivered. "I thought I was going to suffocate."

I waved his words away. "Don't mention it. I was saving my own skin as much as yours. The troll would have crushed me too if I hadn't apparated us away in time." I yawned. "And it wasn't supposed to be _that_ uncomfortable, but I was acting on the spur of the moment."

"So something went wrong? Is that why you were injured?" Bilbo asked. His voice was casual, but I could _feel_ the curiosity rolling off him in waves. "I overheard your exchange with Oin when he was examining your ear," he explained. "He thought the wound was too clean to be a laceration."

I was a little surprised at how quickly the hobbit had caught on. He was far more observant than I gave him credit for. I nodded. "It's called splinching – leaving bits of yourself behind. It happens when you're not sufficiently concentrated, or when you don't have the proper training to pull off a successful apparition."

"Splinching?" Bilbo echoed incredulously. "Does that happen often?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "More often than you'd think. It's usually pretty easy to fix if you can get to a hospital in time. But every now and again some moron gets himself drunk, decides he can't be bothered to walk the distance home and…voila!" I made flourishing gesture with my hand, "He splinches a vital organ. Very messy." I glanced down to see that the hobbit had gone a little pale. "But don't worry," I added hastily, "I knew what I was doing. Sort of."

I wondered idly why the hobbit's questions weren't bothering me. I'd spent the better part of two weeks subtly twisting our (one sided) conversations in a different direction whenever Bilbo tried to broach a personal topic. Why was I suddenly so keen to discuss the basics of magic with him?

I guess there was something comforting in the thought that I didn't have to watch my every move around the hobbit anymore. I suspected that his sheltered life in the Shire had preserved him from all the superstitious nonsense about witches I'd come to hear from the dwarves.

And his questions were a welcome distraction from the chaos of my own head.

"Are you Gandalf's apprentice?" Bilbo asked abruptly, pulling me from my musings.

I spluttered a laugh. "_What?_ Where the hell did you get _that_ idea from? I barely know the guy!"

Bilbo looked a little embarrassed. "You both arrived at my hobbit-hole together in the dead of night," he pointed out. "I don't know much about wizards and magic and the likes, but I assumed he must have a good reason for wanting you in the company. If he's teaching you magic it would explain why he's taken you under his wing."

I huffed indignantly. What the hell was he going on about? I wasn't under _anyone's_ wing. Yes, I went to the old man whenever I had a question about Middle-earth, but only because the dwarves wouldn't understand why I lacked the most basic knowledge of the world that was supposed to be mine. "Well, he's not. I met the old geezer literally five minutes before arriving at your house."

Bilbo shot me a puzzled look. "Then how did you know about the quest?"

"I didn't. Gandalf just appeared out of the blue and invited me for dinner. I figured I'd tag along since I didn't have anything better to do, but I'd never heard about Erebor or Smaug before that night. I was just as surprised as you were when he sprang the news."

"You mean to say you'd never met before?" The hobbit asked incredulously, cocking his head to one side, curiosity etched across his face. "What were you doing in Hobbiton?"

"I was…sort of lost." I shrugged helplessly. "Gandalf said he felt responsible for my fate." I winced as the words left my mouth, realizing just how ridiculous they sounded.

"Gandalf invited you on a quest to slay a dragon because you were _lost_?" Bilbo shook his head doubtfully. "_Why?_ It makes no sense!"

_Well_ _of course it doesn't_, _when you put it like_ that. "I didn't have anywhere to go," I said shortly, hoping he'd leave it at that.

Bilbo opened his mouth, looking as though he wanted to press the matter farther, then caught my irritated expression and hastily chose to move on to a safer topic. "Thorin believes that the elves will try to stop us from reaching Erebor." He glanced around at the deserted garden and leant in close, speaking in a hushed tone, "Gandalf agrees. He assured us that he would distract Lord Elrond long enough for the company to leave Rivendell unnoticed. Thorin will lead us to the foot of the Misty Mountains and we'll wait for the wizard to join us there."

I felt the corners of my lips pull up in a humorless smile. "Thanks for the info, but I'm no longer a part of the company, remember?"

"I know. That's why I think you should wait for Gandalf before trying to follow us to the mountain."

"What?" I stared at Bilbo's earnest expression in astonishment. It was the _last_ thing I'd expected him to say.

Bilbo seemed surprised at my reaction. "You _were_ planning to follow, weren't you?"

"Well…I hadn't really thought about it."

Bilbo stood and brushed the dust from his trousers. Without looking up he said, "Your best chance at getting Thorin to reconsider is through the wizard. Gandalf has taken great pains to secure a place for you in the company. You might believe he acted out of concern for your wellbeing, but I'll bet my buttons the wizard has some other motive for keeping an eye on you. He'll find a way to reason with the dwarves once you've both caught up with us." He met my gaze questioningly. "Unless you'd rather stay in Rivendell?"

I shook my head vigorously. "_Hell_, no."

He smiled. "That's what I thought."

oooOOOooo

It was with a much lighter heart that I left the gardens an hour later. Bilbo bade me goodbye and urged me to take advantage of my delayed departure to get some sleep. "You look dead on your feet," he had added before scuttling off to wherever the dwarves were holed up. I watched his retreating figure with a mixture of bemusement and respect – something I never thought I'd feel for the hobbit. I'd been dreading the moment when Bilbo would eventually corner me in the attempt of finishing the conversation we'd left unresolved at the troll camp. I suspected the hobbit had no idea how much his advice had reassured me, and how he'd raised considerably in my esteem just by giving it to me.

I yawned hugely. Now that I had some semblance of a plan to quell my fears and uncertainties, I felt ready to drop down and take a nap right there and then. But as I retraced my footsteps down the winding passageways to the balcony where the company had eaten, a nagging suspicion slowly seeped into the back of my mind.

_What if Bilbo was right about the wizard?_

I'd always assumed that Gandalf's interest in my story was merely the curiosity of a slightly batty old man faced with a puzzle he couldn't figure the solution to. My very presence in this world was something I couldn't even _begin_ to explain, so naturally, he would be intrigued – but was it enough to justify everything Gandalf had done – all the measures he'd taken to make sure I wasn't left behind?

I thought about the carefully blank look Elrond had given Gandalf when we'd been introduced. _'What is the meaning of this?'_ he'd asked. What had the elf Lord meant by that?

So far I'd been nothing but a burden to the dwarves. I didn't possess any skills that could assist us on our journey, aside from my ability to recognize certain healing herbs – but even that proved useless compared to Oin's experience in the field of medicine. So why had the wizard gone out of his way guarantee my continued presence amongst them? Could it be that he had an interior motive?

As I neared the balcony, the sound of boisterous laughter reached my ears. From the safety of the pillars I could see a flickering light dancing in the gloom. One of the dwarves had taken the initiative of lighting a fire and it was crackling merrily, casting tall shadows across the balcony. I could see silhouettes huddled around the flames. I sniffed the air and detected the scent of tobacco.

Leaning against the pillar, I closed my eyes and listened as Bofur launched into a detailed story about a clever tinker and a milkmaid from Harlond. His story was greeted with laughs and cheers from his audience, who had obviously heard it before and knew it to be good. The whole scene gave off an atmosphere of relaxed contentment.

I was surprised at how badly I wanted to join the dwarves by the fire, listen to Bofur's ridiculous story and laugh along with the others at the way he described the tinker's misfortunes with the milkmaid's father. I wanted to sit with the company and drink to our health, celebrating the fact that we were still alive despite the numerous perils we had faced on the road.

And it scared me right to my core.

I backed away from the balcony into the shadows, suddenly unsure of myself. I barely knew these people – they were nothing more to me than a means to an end. How could I possibly feel any connection to them whatsoever? _This is bad, Cass. You're getting too attached. _

"All right lads!" Balin called, stepping into the light of the flames and cutting Bofur off midstream. "We'd best get a move on. Fili, Kili," he gestured to the Durin brothers, "Start gathering the supplies. We must be swift if we wish to leave this place undetected. Gandalf won't hold them off forever." The company suddenly leaped into a flurry of action, stamping out the flames and pulling together the meager possessions that had survived the flight to Rivendell.

I tore my eyes from the dwarves and backed away. Now was not the time for wistfulness. I needed to find the wizard and let him know what had happened.

I let my gaze sweep over the beautiful architecture of the elvish city. The first rays of sunrise hinted over the valley, reflecting of the gushing water like a million diamonds. The city practically glowed in the morning light. Rivendell was without a doubt the most peaceful place I had ever set foot in. It was a safe harbor, and some small part of me wondered why I didn't want to stay.

But as I mulled over the possibility, I realized it was more than restlessness that made me want to leave the valley. For two weeks I had journeyed with the dwarves, listened to their songs and shared their meals. Now, as they made to go on without me, I felt a sharp pang of longing.

I didn't know when it had happened – maybe at the site of the troll attack or during the orc raid – but somewhere along the line of our journey, my priorities had shifted.

In that moment, I was sorely tempted to leave the wizard behind and follow the dwarves to the Misty Mountains, regardless of what Thorin had said. Strange to think that it was only when I'd been cast out of the company that I realized just how much I wanted to be a part of it.

But that's irony for you.

oooOOOooo

**I'm sorry if updates will take a little longer than usual from now on, but I'm passing my Bac (French exams) in a month, and I've started my revisions. I won't stop writing, but I might only post once every two weeks or so. **

**Next up, Cassie will stumble upon a very interesting conversation between two wizards, an elf Lord and a certain mind-reading elf Lady. **

**Please review!**


	13. The Dropping of Eaves

**I'm alive! Sorry 'bout the long absence, but every time I sat down at my computer to type this chapter, I kept being consumed by guilt at the thought of all the **_**other**_** work I should be doing (namely preparing for my exams). I really hope this chapter was worth the wait ^^**

**Thanks to all those who reviewed my last chapter. I have to say, It's a little depressing to see that the number of readers to favorite my story is almost equal to number of reviews (and some people have reviewed this fic more than once). It doesn't take much time to leave a few words of encouragement to the author, you know!**

**The Dropping of Eaves**

It took me a while to find him – probably because of the sheer size of the place. You'd think that after spending a large portion of my youth in one of the oldest wizarding structures in Brittan, I would be able to navigate my way through the elvish city without too much difficulty, but Imladris was something else entirely. Part of the reason my search took so long was that I kept pausing to admire the scenery, or doubling back to take a closer look at details in the architecture. I couldn't help myself – there was just so much to _see_. Hogwarts may have dwarfed Rivendell in size with its towers and turrets, but the old castle was just that – old.

This place was...timeless. I couldn't for the life of me hazard a guess as to _how_ old the city actually was. There was something disconcerting about the way everything could seem so undamaged and yet so _ancient_ – as if Rivendell simply existed without being affected by the slow and inevitable wear of time.

Like the elves that lived here, the city screamed inhuman. Impossible. _Wrong_. Nothing should be immortal, nothing should last forever, but when Lord Elrond had gazed at me his eyes had held a crushing wisdom no mortal man could ever hope to gain. Not in one lifetime anyway, not even in a dozen.

I, on the other hand, was human. I moved too clumsily, breathed too loudly. I felt the eyes of every elf I passed linger on my back, but not one of them made to stop me with a question about my presence in their home. They were curious, yes, but only mildly so. We didn't belong on the same plane of existence, and I was probably just as interesting to them as an ant to a cat.

I felt like a stain on an otherwise immaculate landscape.

The second reason it took me so long to find the wizard was that every so often I would pause in my search, eyes sweeping towards the far side of the valley over the narrow path we had taken to reach the city in the hopes of spotting the company as they were leaving. But the dwarves and Bilbo were nowhere to be seen.

I shuffled along, checking one lavishly decorated room after another, growing more and more frustrated with every step. _Where has that confounded wizard gotten to?_

"You are searching for my father."

The melodious voice reached my ears as I was crossing yet another courtyard and I stopped in my tracks, glancing over my shoulder. An elven woman stood in an open archway, the morning light outlining her silhouette, highlighting the lustrous gleam of her rich dark hair. Her eyes were a piercingly sharp shade of blue. She took a graceful step forwards, a small smile playing on the edges of her full lips.

I blinked, a little startled by this sudden apparition. "Actually, no," I said slowly, "I'm looking for Gandalf."

Her eyes crinkled slightly in the corners as her smile broadened. "The Grey Wizard is in my father's presence, Miss Morgan. Where you find one, you will find the other."

I sighed. Was every mystical being in this world compelled to speak in riddles? "Where's you dad?"

She tilted her head, eyes traveling to the upper part of Rivendell I had yet to explore. I followed her gaze to an open air porch carved out of white stone overshadowing the city. A thin stream of water cascaded from the rocks supporting the structure, glinting in the rays of morning light.

"Right. And how do I get up there?"

The elf gestured to a door to the far side of the court yard. "Follow the corridor until you reach the tapestry of the Battle of Mount Doom. There will be a passageway to your left. Climb the flight of stairs at the end of it. Do not stop until you have reached open air."

"Thanks." I hesitated, then asked, "How do you know my name?"

She laughed softly, the sound like chimes in the wind. "Word travels swiftly. We elves seldom have the opportunity to contemplate something new."

I frowned. "What makes me _new_?"

"A female human traveling with a band of dwarves is rather uncommon." Her eyes trailed over my short, messy hair and masculine clothes. I would have felt offended, but her eyes held nothing more than open curiosity. "One might wonder why you find them so interesting."

"I have a beard fetish."

The elf cocked her head slightly to the side, a thoughtful expression on her face. "So it would seem."

I was about to assure her (rather vehemently) that my interest in the dwarves' quest was strictly non-romantic when I saw a glimmer of humour dancing behind her blue eyes.

"Do not worry, Cassie Morgan," she said. "You needn't explain yourself to me." She turned her back and walked slowly towards the open arch, gazing eastwards across the lush green valley. "I understand the thrill of the unknown. As women we experience very few opportunities to see the world and to behold its wonders. We are expected to meet certain standards." She turned to face me once more, smiling wryly. "It very rarely occurs to men that perhaps a few of us want something more in life than a strong husband and healthy children."

"Uh huh." I wasn't entirely sure where this conversation was going but figured I might as well be polite and let her finish since she'd already given me the information I wanted. The elf however, had resumed her contemplation of the valley. "Sooo…through the door, down the corridor, first to my left and up the stairs until I hit the top?"

"Yes."

"Ta." I started walking towards the door. The elf called out to me once more as I laid my hand on the dark oak.

"I would not hurry myself if I were you. It would be prudent to let them conclude their matters before interrupting."

I frowned. "Why? What's going on up there?"

When she only smiled enigmatically I shrugged and pushed at the door. _I guess I'll have to find out for myself_. "Hey, what's your name?" I called in afterthought.

Her answering voice rang across the courtyard before the door had time to swing shut. "I am Arwen Undomeil, daughter of Lord Elrond." A moment later, the heavy wooden door closed behind me with an almighty _boom_, and I was alone in the dimly lit corridor.

_Daughter of – _

I glanced up in the general direction of the open air porch. When the elf had said that Gandalf was with her father, I'd figured the wizard was catching up on old times over a cup of wine with a friend. But if he was having a private conversation with the elven Lord…

_'What is the meaning of this?'_ Elrond's voice echoed in my head. The wizard had deftly avoided the question, but his eyes had promised _'Later.'_

I started walking at a brisk pace down the corridor, eyes peeled for the tapestry Lady Arwen had mentioned. _This, _I thought to myself_, is going to be interesting_.

oooOOOooo

The Grey Wizard was indeed in the company of Lord Elrond. I could see that much as climbed the last stone steps and emerged into the open. The location they had chosen was the perfect place to host a secret meeting. The delicate porch had been carved at the very limit of the mountainside, a steep drop on either side. There were no footholds visible on the stone supporting the structure, and I guessed they had been purposefully smoothed to keep curious ears from scaling the rocks underneath in order to reach the porch unseen. A thin path winded its way along the side of the porch, sloping upwards to the entrance of the pale structure. It was the only way to reach the porch.

I could glimpse Lord Elrond's figure slipping in and out of sight behind the columns as he paced in a wide circle. Gandalf was seated at a round table in the centre of the porch, speaking rapidly to someone I couldn't see but who obviously had his undivided attention. I craned my neck, trying to get a good look at the stranger, but an ornately carved pillar hid him from sight.

I considered my options. The winding path was devoid of ramparts, or anything that might help conceal me from the three figures on the porch. If I tried to sneak across I would be completely in the open, and there was a good chance I would be spotted. I mentally cursed the architects responsible. I had passed an uncountable amount of busts and statues during my search of the city, why couldn't they have stuck one or two on the path where they could be useful to me? Then again, I suppose that _was_ the whole purpose of the blasted path to begin with.

Upon second glance, I noticed that there _was_ a statue, a pale maiden sitting on a rock jutting out from the side of the pathway, but it was a little too close to the porch for my liking. How the heck was I supposed to reach it without being seen?

Their discussion might not even be relevant to my situation, but on the offhand that it _was_…

I needed to know what they were talking about.

Watching closely, I waited until Lord Elrond had turned his back once more before creeping out into the open and slowly making my way along the path, eyes riveted on the wizard and his companion, aiming for the statue of the pale maiden atop of the rock. _Fifteen steps left_. Neither glanced up, too engrossed in their conversation. _Ten steps_. I tried to tread as swiftly as possible. _Seven steps_. Lord Elrond was almost at the edge of the structure – he was going to turn soon. _Five_. I was almost there. _Two_ –

A fourth figure emerged into view. She had been standing in absolute stillness by one of the pillars, and I wouldn't have noted her presence at all had she not suddenly stepped a little to the right. I froze.

Clad entirely in white, with hair like spun sunlight flowing down to the middle of her back, the elven woman stood tall and proud. In the dim morning light she seemed to shine as bright as the few remaining stars overhead. She turned to face the path and for a second, I was certain she had seen me, but her cool gaze passed over my still figure without the slightest sign of having noticed anything wrong. She turned once again to face the wizard.

I dove for the safety of the statue, heart hammering in my mouth. Once I'd collected my bearings I peeked over the rock and saw that the elven woman had circled the table and was now speaking softly to Gandalf. I strained my ears but heard nothing except the murmur of the wind in the leaves below.

Had she seen me? Unlikely. She would have warned her companions.

I glanced at the nearest column, trying to judge the distance, then waited until both elves were facing away from me before darting forwards. No one saw me reach the pillar, no one heard the soft _smack_ of flesh against stone as I pressed my hands against the surface, shielding myself from view. I indulged in a small grin of victory and an even smaller sigh of relief before focusing on the discussion I'd gone to such pains to overhear.

"- should he side with the enemy? A dragon can be used to terrible effect." _Gandalf_.

I craned my neck and peered cautiously around the pillar, finally getting the full view of the scene. The wizard was leaning forwards slightly, elbows resting on the stone table, a relaxed air about him. Only his tightly-wound hands gave away any sign that he was under pressure.

"What enemy?" the man sitting opposite him asked. At first glance, there was nothing particularly remarkable about the stranger. He seemed old – as old as Gandalf – but it was less visible, perhaps because of his long mane of pure-white hair or the streaks of black in his beard.

But when spoke, his voice…I shuddered despite myself. There was nothing ordinary about this man's voice. It flowed from his mouth like a river, smooth and powerful, filling the silence with its deep timbre. "Gandalf, the enemy is defeated. Sauron is vanquished. He can never regain his full strength." I closed my eyes, hugging the pillar for support. His voice was captivating, mesmerizing with each syllable. It resonated with authority and influence.

Elrond stepped into my line of vision. "Gandalf, for four hundred years we have lived in peace – a hard won, watchful peace." I latched onto his words, desperately trying to distance myself from the Stranger's intoxicating voice.

The Grey Wizard unwound his fingers and shifted in his seat, eyes sweeping inquisitively over his three companions. "Are we? Are we at peace?" When none replied he pressed on. "Trolls have come down from the mountains. They are raiding villages, destroying farms. Orcs have attacked us on the run!"

The elven Lord nodded solemnly. "Hardly a prelude to war."

"Always you must meddle, looking for trouble where none exists!" This time when the Stranger spoke I was ready, but his voice still caught me by surprise. It was just so…compelling. I had no idea how Gandalf could sit so still and unfazed when he was being subjected to such a voice –_ I_ was having a hard time focusing, and it wasn't even directed at _me_.

The elven woman glided forwards. "Let him speak."

Gandalf took a deep breath and launched into his explanation. "There is something at work beyond the evil of Smaug, something far more powerful. We can remain blind to it but it will not be ignoring us – that I can promise you. A sickness lies over the Green Wood. The woodsmen who live there now call it_ Mirkwood,_ and they say…" he trailed off, seeming hesitant to continue.

"Well," the Stanger encouraged in a softly mocking tone, "Don't stop now. Tell us what the _woodsmen_ say."

"They speak of a Necromancer living in Dol Guldur, a sorcerer who can summon the dead."

Gandalf's words shocked me from the Stranger's influence like a smack to the cheek. In my mind I saw the killing curse hurtle towards me, striking me to the chest. _Avada Kedavra_. My life slipping from my grasp as I dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut away. The memory faded and I pressed my forehead against the cold stone, listening with all my might.

"That's absurd. No such power exists in this world." The Stranger made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "This 'Necromancer' in nothing more than a mortal man, a conjurer dabbling in black magic."

The wizard hastily ploughed on. "And so I thought too, but Radagast has seen –"

"Radagast?" The Stranger's voice cracked like a whip, harsh and sharp, his eyes seconding the notion. "Do not speak to me of Radagast the Brown. He is a foolish fellow."

"He's odd, I grant you," Gandalf amended, "Lives a solitary life, but –"

"It's not that. It's his excessive consumption of mushrooms. They've addled his brain and yellowed his teeth."

As the Stranger launched into a detailed enumeration of the Radagast's many faults I gritted my teeth in frustration. _No, no, no! _They were moving away from the subject! I wanted – _needed_ – to know more about this Necromancer. _Goddamn you, listen to the old crackpot!_

A sudden movement brought my attention back to the scene in front of me – or rather, an _absence_ of movement. The elven woman had been slowly pacing around the table throughout the whole conversation. She now stood motionless as a statue, pale blue eyes fixed on the wizard as he extracted something from the folds of his grey cloak. Gandalf carefully placed the object on the stone table and I immediately recognized it as the dagger Radagast had found, though it was still wrapped in the dirty yellowed cloth.

I held my breath, anticipation stirring in my gut. I felt as if I were on the verge of some great discovery – an answer to all the questions that had been brewing in my mind from Day One in Middle-earth. I blinked hard against my fatigue as a small knot of pressure started to build in the back of my head. Now was not the time to indulge in a headache, not when I was so close to _finally_ knowing…

"What is that?" Lord Elrond asked, reaching out to remove the fabric.

"A relic of Mordor," murmured the white Lady.

Elrond's hand jumped back an inch. He hesitated, sharing a wary glance with the Stranger, then ever so carefully lifted the dirty fold, revealing the cruel weapon beneath.

There was a short moment of stunned silence as everyone contemplated the dark blade resting on the table. I was once again struck by how _cold_ the dagger looked. Even the sunlight negated to reflect of its blackened steel.

Elrond was the first to breach the silence. "A Morgul blade," he hissed.

"Made for the Witch-king of Angmar." The white Lady took a graceful step towards the table, tilting her head slightly to glance questioningly at the wizard. "And buried with him. When Angmar fell the men of the north took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it within the high fells of Rhudaur. Deep within the rocks they buried him, in a tomb so dark it would never come to light."

_And yet, here's his dagger_. This Witch-king's tomb couldn't have been as well guarded as everyone seemed to think it was if it had been raided and stripped of all valuables. I felt my brows furrow in disappointment. This was hardly the answer I'd been hoping to uncover.

The pressure continued to build, spreading to my temples and forehead. I shook my head absently, trying to dismiss the irritating sensation.

"What proof do we have this weapon came from Angmar's grave?" the Stranger asked with his mesmerizing voice. He seemed to be trying to regain some vestige of control over the discussion after this unexpected turn of events.

"I have none," Gandalf said, almost apologetically.

"Because there is none! Let us examine what we _know_. A single orc-pack has dared…"

The pressure suddenly piqued to an uncomfortable level and I clutched my head against the sharp pain, gritting my teeth as a smooth voice invaded my thoughts: '_Your mind is well-protected, child._'

I bit back a cry of surprise and clamped a hand over my mouth to prevent any sound from escaping. _What the hell –?_

'_Calm yourself._' Barely a whisper, gentle and soft as a summer's breeze – yet it filled my find, commanding my attention. '_I mean you no harm._'

My knees buckled as a fresh wave of pain washed through me. I bit down hard on my tongue, tasting blood. _Get out of my head! _I pleaded mentally, recognizing the signs of a Legilimency attack. I didn't know the first thing about Occlumency, and so I braced myself against the inevitable onslaught of memories that were bound to follow. _Please!_

To my surprise the pressure receded, and with it the pain. I clutched at the pillar with sweaty palms, shaking uncontrollably.

Barely fifteen feet away, the meeting went on undisturbed.

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to dispel the quivers riding up and down my spine. _Who the _hell_ was that? _

I almost jumped out of my skin when the smooth voice answered. "_I am Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlorien_." She seemed to brush the surface of my consciousness, barely a whisper in my mind. '_And you are Cassiopeia, daughter of Isaac Morgan of…_' she trailed away uncertainly and my thoughts immediately strayed to my hometown, '…_London. Great-Brittan,'_ she finished.

I felt my heartbeat accelerate as panic griped me in its clutches. She knew my name. She knew my _father's_ name.

I sucked in a sharp intake of breath as the pressure reappeared on either side of my scalp. Then, almost in answer, a stab of harsh pain resonated through my mind and I let out a low moan, unable to contain myself. The pressure disappeared almost instantly.

'_Curious_,' Galadriel murmured distantly, with the air of a detached professor examining cause and effect. '_You are resisting me, child_.'

_What?_ Confusion clouded my thoughts. _No, I'm not._ I braced myself against the pillar, ready to turn heel and bolt at the slightest sign of another attack.

'_Now then, Cassiopeia_,' the Legilimens chided. _'I wish no harm to come of you_.'

_Really?_ I growled, anger quickening my pulse. _You've got a funny way of showing it, you mind-rapist!_

'_Hush_,' she murmured, a slight note of irritation colouring her tone, '_Do you think I was fooled by your earlier display of stealth? You tread lightly enough for a Mortal, but there are other ways to detect an unwanted observer._' As if to drive her point home she increased the pressure a third time and I threw my head back as the answering pain vibrated through my scalp.

_Okay, okay, I get it!_ I thought desperately, suddenly afraid. This was no ordinary elf I was dealing with. Galadriel had power and, as far as I could tell, the detached indifference to use it unhindered by moral code.

And yet… three times she had probed my mind with her Legilimency skills and no memories had been forced to the surface under her influence. She knew what I was thinking upon the moment, but the rest of it – my past – remained hidden from her.

'_Yes_,' she breathed, viewing my thoughts as plainly as if she were reading an open book. '_I was able to catch a glimpse before you took note of my presence and shut me out._ _The pain you feel is the result of your struggles_.'

But I _wasn't_ struggling. I'd only ever _read_ about Occlumency – there was no way I could erect a mental barrier strong enough to withstand her attacks, so _how_ was I blocking her?

'_Hush child_.' She gently pulled my attention away from my current train of thought and directed it to the conversation taking place beyond the pillars. '_Your mind is full of questions and doubt. Mithrandir possesses some of the answers you so sorely seek._' And then she was gone in a whisper, her presence fading from my consciousness entirely.

Relief flooded me in tangible waves and I slowly started to edge away from the column, determined to vacate the scene before the elven Lady decided to invade my privacy again. I had barely moved however, when her deep voice echoed across the porch, cutting across the other three's discussion: "And what of Cassiopeia Morgan? You are most concerned by her fate, Mithrandir."

There was a pause in which all eyes swivelled to the Lady of Lothlorien. I waited with baited breath, one hand still pressed against the pillar.

"Cassie?" Gandalf chuckled in a poor attempt to mask his discomfort. "Forgive me my Lady, but I was not aware you had perceived her presence in the Valley of Imladris." He waved his hand. "A mere oversight on my part, I assure you, and hardly a matter for the White Counsel to attend to."

I frowned. Something in his tone sounded…off. Like he was trying to move the discussion along to a less hazardous subject.

I wasn't alone to notice the wizard's evasiveness. "Who is she Gandalf?" Elrond asked. The Stranger leant forwards ever so slightly in his seat, scrutinizing the old man with his cold eyes.

"Oh, no one of importance," the wizard said airily. "Only the daughter of an old friend. I promised to keep an eye on her while she sedated her thirst for adventure."

The elven Lord wasn't fooled. "Surly you have felt it, Mithrandir? There is a troubling power in that child – I saw as much in her eyes when she introduced herself."

There was an awkward silence during which Gandalf shot a wary glance at the Stranger. "Well…" He seemed to choose his next words carefully, "She has a certain…talent about her, I give you that, but hardly –"

"You have found another one." It wasn't a question. The Stranger's eyes were now hard as steel as his keen gaze bore into the wizard's – and I was suddenly reminded of a raptor circling its prey.

For a second, Gandalf hesitated, then his shoulders sagged slightly and he said, "Yes."

"Another what?" Elrond's question echoed my own silent inquiry, gaze sweeping between the two men seated at the table. Galadriel simply resumed her slow pacing.

The Stranger remained silent for a while longer. When he finally spoke, his voice bore none of the enthralling cadence it had before. Sharp and curt, his words reflected the anger within. "How long did you hope to keep this hidden from me, Gandalf?"

The wizard met his rage with steady calm. "I did not think it necessary to trouble you so early in my findings. I had hoped to gain a little more knowledge and present to you a case based on fact – not speculation." There was a hint of reproach in his tone.

The Stranger bristled. "Fool!" he hissed, "That was not your decision to make. You should have brought her to me immediately."

Gandalf bowed his head. "Perhaps," he admitted, "But I can now affirm that Cassie's situation differs greatly from the other we have encountered. She bears us no ill will."

"Indeed?" The Stranger's tone had a mocking lilt to it. "Did she tell you that? Tell me Gandalf, did she inform you of her agenda in our land?"

"I have not yet questioned her on the matter. She is reluctant to trust, you see, and –"

"And yet you seem to have imparted a great deal of trust to this near-stranger!" He waved his hand curtly, signalling an end to the matter. "You will bring her before me at once, Gandalf, and let us pray that your _oversight_ has not cost the lives of innocent."

The Lady of Lothlorien paused in her pacing. "Cassiopeia is not of this world," she murmured, turning to face the wizard.

Something seemed to pass between them and Gandalf's brow furrowed ever so slightly. His eyes twitched to her left, falling on the pillar behind which I was hiding. "No, my Lady, she is not."

Galadriel nodded thoughtfully. "And she is not the first you have encountered."

This time, it was the Stranger who answered. "Two span ago, a troubling rumour came to my attention. A number of farms and small villages were being raided in the north, their inhabitants found slaughtered in their beds. Survivors spoke of a foul demon attacking at nightfall, a monster that killed with a single flash of green light. For many days I followed the trail, journeying from one thrashed household to the next, until finally, I stumbled upon the culprits." The Stranger chuckled darkly. "A man and woman, half-consumed by madness – yet possessing great power, magic such as I have never encountered… No. They were not of our world."

Silence fell, heavy and oppressing. From behind the pillar my mind was reeling from this onslaught of information. I pressed my forehead against the cool stone, willing for someone to ask the question that was fighting to breach my lips.

Galadriel obliged: "What became of them?"

The wizard stirred in his seat. "Saruman insured a swift execution, ending all hope of ever learning how they came to our world." He shook his head in desolation. "Perhaps if the man had been captured alive his companion might have surrendered peacefully."

The elven Lady tilted her head to one side, eyes unfocused. "The woman fled."

"Indeed, my Lady. We have been unable to locate her since." Gandalf's voice became earnest as he searched the Stranger – _Saruman's_ gaze. "You know I did not approve of your decision, which is precisely why I wished to avoid this confrontation. Hear me now old friend: Miss Morgan poses no such threat."

Saruman's eyes iced over, and when he spoke his voice had recovered some of its terrible force. "I will be the judge of that, Gandalf Greyhame."

_Bilbo was right_. It was a bitter thought, although not all that surprising. Gandalf had never questioned my story, never doubted my sanity. He had known the truth from the moment he set eyes on me, before _I_ had even figured out the half of it. It stung a little to think that he'd played me for so long without my noticing.

_You need to leave, Cass_. I had already stayed far too long. Every second spent skulking out of sight was a second wasted in my escape – for I knew now that Rivendell was no longer safe. Saruman (as I remembered from the old man's ramblings) was the head of Gandalf's order – the most powerful wizard of all five. I wanted nothing to do with such a man, especially if he'd already eliminated one of my own and was considering doing the same with me.

But before I could slip away quietly, I felt the tell-tale whisper of the white Lady invading my conscience. '_Forgive me, child_," Galadriel murmured, gentle as autumn rain, "_But this needs to be done_."

_What –? _I suddenly experienced a pain so severe I thought that someone must have sliced of the top of my head. The pressure had returned in full force, prying at the mental barrier I didn't even know existed, pulling it apart inch by inch, tearing, ripping, until –

The stone pillar swam in front of my eyes and vanished; image after image racing through my mind like a thousand photos so vivid they blinded me to my surroundings… _I was five, playing with a toy broomstick I had gotten for my birthday, adrenalin coursing through my veins as I swooped around the garden… I was eight and Derek Campbell was pushing me into a corner of the playground, laughing as I trembled in fear… Sparks flew from the wand I was clutching in Olivander's shop and I swelled with pride… A weedy looking boy started at the sound of my name as McGonagall called me to the front of the Great Hall, holding the Sorting Hat aloft_…

I fell to my knees, panting. Galadriel delved deeper, shifting through layer upon layer of memories, viewing my life as it flitted before my eyes…

… _Snow spiralled from the enchanted ceiling, melting before it reached the table… I sat in a dark corner of the library, scanning the list of deceased in ancient news articles, a sickening feeling twisting in my gut… The Triwizard champions dived into the freezing water of the Black Lake, disappearing in a ripple of waves_…

_No_, I moaned feebly, trying to push her away. G_et out… _

… _Draco scowled from across the table… My mother slammed the front door, warning me not to return… Flames engulfed the castle, red-hot and angry, consuming everything in their path… The green light rammed into my chest. I crumbled onto the pavement, and suddenly the world was too bright. Darkness fell and I was left floating in nothingness_…

Galadriel paused, letting the memory bubble to the surface, watching it take shape…

… _Thud thud_. _My back arched as a cold hand closed around my heart, forcing it to beat, pumping blood through my veins_…

A snarl erupted from the depth of my mind, low and menacing. The white Lady paid no heed, too absorbed in the memory of my death to notice the threat. Something stirred deep within me, slowly emerging from the dark pit in which it had been hiding. It growled and lashed out, drawing on my magic, screeching a single word that resonated through my head like thunder: '_MINE!'_

The pillar swam back into focus. I clamped my hands to my mouth, drowning out a scream. Inside the circle of columns Galadriel inhaled sharply.

"My Lady?" Elrond. I heard the scraping of chairs as the two wizards rose to their feet.

"Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!" Her voice was barely a whisper. "What madness is this?"

I scrambled heavily to my feet, tottering backwards a few steps and slamming into something solid, throwing me off my balance. A hand grasped me by the shoulder, pulling me away from the edge of path and the steep drop beyond. I raised my head and recognized Lindir.

The elf frowned. "Miss Morgan, what on earth–?" He stopped, eyes swivelling to the pillar behind which I had been crouching and back to me, putting two and two together.

I knocked his had away. Ignoring Lindir's cry of protest I bolted down the path, rushing past the statue of the pale maiden, and leaped down the dimly-light staircase out of sight.

oooOOOooo

**I've been building up to this chapter for some time now, and I feel kinda anxious about how it turned out. I hope nobody found it too confusing ^^'**

**And yes, I am aware that I fiddled a little with the timing in this chapter (Lindir should have interrupted the meeting waaaaay earlier than he did in my version) but there was a lot of stuff I wanted to cover.**

**What did you all think of Galadriel? I couldn't find a proper description of her mind reading so I based myself on Legilimency.**

**Wow, I think this is my longest chapter yet! Please review!**


	14. Through Hell and High Water

**Hey guys! I'm in Germany for a summer job at the moment, and it's hot as hell over here. I've finally gotten past that brief spell of homesickness that always grips me whenever I travel alone for an extended period of time. I must be some kind of masochist 'cause I always find ways to willingly throw myself into impossible situations. Then I spend at least three days cursing myself in a Bilbo Baggins type scenario ('why oh why did I leave my hobbit hole?').**

**In this particular case, I realized on my first day that I was going to be waiting tables in a German restaurant for six weeks, AND I DON'T SPEAK GERMAN. Somehow, that tiny little detail didn't seem so important to me when I agreed to take the job. I am an idiot. (Btw, if I have any German readers, you rock!)**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

**Through Hell and High Water**

I made it as far as the narrow bridge at the entrance of the city – although in all honesty I'm surprised my attempted escape wasn't thwarted sooner. Perhaps if I hadn't been so panicked I might have realized that leaving The Hidden Valley the same way I'd arrived ranged at the height of idiocy. The path was far too open and I would be spotted before I had the chance to disappear into the narrow cave, and even if I _did_ manage to slip away unnoticed, I would be faced with another problem, for I knew nothing of the land beyond Rivendell. Bilbo had said the company was headed for the Misty Mountains - a huge stretch of peaks and mounds extending from north to south. With no map, compass, or food and water to help me on my way I would not get far before collapsing from exhaustion or dehydration. My only safeguard was the hobbit's assurance that the dwarfs would wait for Gandalf before moving on, but I had no idea for how long or even _where_ then planned to stop.

It did not occur to me that seeking out the company's protection might not be the brightest of plans. I could no longer trust the Gray Wizard to have my best interests at heart, nor was there any guarantee that Thorin would take me back into their fold – In fact, if he knew the full extent of my story, he was most likely to gift-wrap me and hand me over to the Stranger himself.

Had I been rested and sated I might have thought up a hundred different valid reasons to abandon this ridiculous plan, but in that moment all that counted in my dog-tired mind was that I escape the elven city – and even the humiliating thought of groveling at the dwarf king's feet paled in comparison to the new threat pursuing me.

I reached the stone bridge in a winded mess. Without the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I doubt I would have reached it at all. Everything had passed in a hazy blur since my flight from the open-air porch, and I only dimly remembered pelting my way through the exquisite city, paying no mind to the indignant elves I shoved aside.

In spite of my haste, I skidded to a halt before the bridge, taken by an unexpected surge of vertigo. Far below me the river flowed swift and powerful, smacking against the sides of the chasm, frothing, twisting, gushing –

I reeled backwards and griped the tall statue erect on the side of the bridge. In my mind's eye, I envisioned my body caught in the current, dragged under the surface and suffocated in the deep cold waters. I shook my head sharply, smacking my cheek. Now was not the time to surrender to irrational fear. Heights had never been problematic for me before, and I'd be damned if I was going to let myself develop a phobia now of all times.

Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath and ventured onto the narrow stone passage. I kept my gaze riveted on the far side of the gorge, where the mountain path twisted in and out of sight along the valley before disappearing altogether. _Find your way back to the cave, Cass. Then you can rest_, I promised.

Below my feet, the water rushed with powerful certainty.

I was almost halfway across when a authoritative voice cracked through the air with the force of a whip.

"Stop!"

The shouted command caught me off guard. Unwillingly, my legs ceased to move and I jarred to a sudden halt. _What the –?_ I blinked down at my still limbs, surprise fluttering in my gut. Why had I stopped? Twisting my head, I glanced over my shoulder at the man standing behind me.

For a second I could only stare stupidly, too confused to make sense of what I was seeing, then my eyes widened as recognition hit.

The Stranger extended his hand. "Come child," he said in a honeyed tone, rich and sweet. If I thought his Voice had been compelling when he was speaking to Gandalf, it was nothing compared to how it sounded now that the Stranger was directing it at me. It vibrated across the air, drowning out the sound of the river below, filling my head with its mesmerizing cadence. I was dimly aware of my body twisting away from the mountain path in response, obeying the order without a second thought.

The Stranger's mouth twisted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Come child," he purred again, his Voice as soft as velvet. "I wish you no harm."

I took a sluggish step towards the wizard, away from the narrow cave – and my freedom.

_No!_

My mind slammed on the brakes, jerking my body to a stop. _No no no no no!_ I screamed the word like a mantra, pleading my body not to betray me. If I crossed the short distance between the Stranger and myself, I would never again find the will to escape. Already I could feel my resolve faltering, quailing before the wizard's power. I steeled my mind, my muscles tensed, grinding my legs to the ground. _NO!_

A small crease had appeared in the Stranger's brow and in an instant his warm mask had slipped away, revealing the cold, dispassionate features beneath. He opened his mouth to speak and I was flooded with wild terror. My resolve was paper thin – if he spoke now, I wouldn't be able to resist.

In a last desperate attempt of escape I dragged my right leg backwards. It was impossibly challenging and the effort wrenched a cry from my lips, but still I forced my muscles to obey me, pulling away…

My foot connected with open air. There was a funny lurching feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized I had stepped too far, and I threw myself forwards to counter the fall, landing heavily on my midsection. I gasped as the air was knocked from my lungs, legs dangling dangerously over the deep chasm. I could feel myself slowly slipping on the edge of the bridge. A strong gust caught in my traveling cloak. It billowed in the wind, adding to my instability.

I wrenched my gaze upwards and saw that the Stranger had not moved. The sheer lack of emotion in his eyes sent a chill up my spine. He calmly observed as I flailed around for something to cling to, finding only smooth stone. I saw something flash across the wizard's face – an emotion so brief I almost missed it.

Satisfaction.

I just had time to see Saruman the White turn away before I slipped across the last few inches of solid stone… and then I was falling.

I hit the water forcibly, sinking like a stone beneath the surface. Cold seeped into my innards like a freezing fog, leaking into the very marrow of my bones, numbing my brain. Ice needles delved into my flesh and spread painfully throughout my body, arctic fire licking at my limbs. For a second, time seemed to suspend itself and I floated in eerie silence, watching the sunlight shimmer against the surface like mirrors, glinting of the small pearl-white bubbles.

Then, with an almighty rushing sound the current caught me in its clutches and I was swept along, as powerless as a leaf in the wind. The water became the world. It was everywhere and everything – it blurred my sight to a dull and murky enclosure, it brushed against my skin, filling my ears with its roar. I rolled and tumbled, lashing out, not knowing up from down.

My head broke the surface and I gasped in clean air, kicking at the water to stay above the waves. My legs caught in my wet cloak, the fabric unbelievably heavy. All around me I could see nothing but the angry, frothing river.

A rock loomed into view. It slammed painfully into my side. The air whooshed out of me and I ricocheted, arms closing instinctively around my burning ribs. A second rock caught me in the stomach. I cried out, water leaking into my mouth. The world disappeared once more, replaced by the oppressing rush of the river as I was dragged under a second time.

The current was stronger now; I could sense that much from my futile attempts to gain the surface.

Panic took its toll, terror welling up inside me. My body reacted instinctively and I felt a tightening in my throat as my windpipe contracted, preventing any water from drowning my lungs. I started thrashing wildly, not knowing which way to go, which way was death and which was survival. I was caught in the current's whim, utterly at its mercy. It flipped and turned me and it was so _loud_, and I needed to breath because my lungs were burning, but I couldn't – my throat was so tight – and when I opened my mouth water flowed in and it tasted funny and the sides of my vision were turning black and my chest was burning, burning, _burning_…

My lungs gave in to the pressure and a stream of bubbles burst from my mouth. For a second, the pain receded and I felt relieved. Then cold water poured down my nose and throat. I tried to move my arms, but all I could muster was a weak twitching. Exhaustion weighed me down, slowing my heart to a faint beat, sucking the fight out of me. I could no longer hear the grumble of the river.

It was surprisingly peaceful, despite the dull aching in my chest. My eyes closed to slits and I drifted, limbs spread out in a relaxing manner, hands brushing against the weedy disarray of the bottom…

The bottom.

A spark of something – maybe hope – flickered inside me. With my last ounces of strength I drew my legs under me, ignoring the rippling soreness in my muscles as they screamed in protest – and pushed.

I soared upwards, water pressing against my eyes, brushing my arms and legs, cool fingers running through my hair. The deed sucked the last of my strength away and I felt myself go limp. _Please let it be enough…_

My head broke the surface.

I convulsed, spasming, hacking up water. The first gulp of air was the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted. All too soon I was seized by another coughing fit, my lungs violently rejecting the small amount of liquid they'd taken in. I bobbed at the surface for a few seconds before threatening to sink again, and I thrust out my legs in response, panic tightening my gut. My feet connected with the bottom of the river.

I sucked in air, filling my lungs to bursting point, relishing in the feeling. How had I ever taken the simple action for granted?

Something burned in my throat and suddenly I was throwing up more than just water. Bile filled my mouth, the sharp acidic taste washing over my tongue. I retched, all the while forcing my legs to move, pushing against the muddy bottom, aware that if I stopped, even for a second, I would never will myself into motion again.

I blinked around at my surroundings and saw that the current had dragged my still body into a niche in the river. The water surrounding me was flooded with various branches and debris that had suffered the same fate as I had. A few feet away, the water continued to flow, snaking out of sight. I shuddered.

The bank was not very far and the current was almost non-existent, but I had reached a point of exhaustion that rendered my every move to sluggishness. Only the promise of dry land kept me going. The mud beneath my feet was thick and oozy, adding to my misery. My sodden cloak dragged in the water behind me, slowing me down. I unfastened it absently, gladly letting the weight slip from my shoulders.

When my feet finally emerged from the river I collapsed onto my knees, too tired to even take another step. My near drowning experience had taken so much out of me, it felt as if I'd run two miles. I rolled to my side and concentrated on taking deep breaths, relishing in the simplicity of the act. My chest slowly rose and fell, rose and fell. I could hear birds in the distance, and for a second, I was amazed at how the world had not simply blinked out of existence when I had gone under. The water had taken up everything – sight, sound, taste, hearing – how odd it was to think that above the surface, life had gone on unperturbed.

It was with this troubling thought that my mind finally gave in to exhaustion and I closed my eyes, drifting away into unconsciousness with blissful ease.

oooOOOooo

**Finally, she gets to sleep!**

**So yeah, you know the drill; Please review this chapter! They make me feel warm and fuzzy ^^ Do any of you guys have a Pottermore account? If so, what houses are you in? Can you guess mine?**

**I've never had any experience with the whole drowning thing, so I spent many many hours doing research on the subject. I hope it sounded realistic enough.**


	15. Of Brass Buttons

**You might have noticed that I haven't been posting chapters as regularly as usual these past two months, and while it was partially due to my upcoming exams (I passed btw!), I must confess that there was another reason. I was losing faith in my OC. My confidence was completely crushed to the point where I seriously considered giving up on the story altogether.**

**Luckily, I took to re-reading some of your lovely reviews (in a completely non-narcissistic way, I assure you ^^) and writing a detailed history for my character in order to reacquaint myself with her, and my inspiration returned.**

**All this to say thanks to those of you who have kindly reviewed my story, you really helped me regain my confidence. Now on with the chapter! (This one in nice and long to make up for the really short one I posted last week)**

**Of Brass Buttons**

_I don't know where I am. _

_Partial memories flicker hazily in my mind, too muddled and unfocused to draw any kind of conclusion. I look down at my palms and flex my fingers, observing with some surprise that my left hand is no longer mutilated. My brow creases as I try to remember… I think there is something I need to do… but what?_

_ My surroundings seem familiar, yet alien at the same time. Four long tables stretch from one side of the hall to the other, aligned with perfect precision. The benches on either side are empty of occupants, but if I strain myself I can hear echoes of laughter and exited voices resonating off the walls. Faint figures dance at the corner of my eyes, disappearing before I can turn to face them. _

_A fifth table is at the end of the hall, facing the others on a raised platform. At its center there is a magnificent golden chair, far more imposing than the wooden seats on either side of it. Someone is sitting in the middle chair, unmoving._

_I start forwards, footsteps ringing loudly in my ears, questions bubbling on the tip of my tongue. Each stride carries me closer to the high table and with every step, the laughter becomes fainter and fainter until it disappears entirely, replaced by oppressing silence. There is a tightness in my chest that pulses as I draw nearer. I feel I should be running in the other direction – whatever is waiting for me at the end of the hall can bring me only pain – and yet I keep moving._

_The figure becomes clearer as I approach. It is a man I think, clad in dark robes. He sits tall and proud, staring straight ahead, hands clasped firmly around his wand. He turns his head as I reach the table, silently acknowledging my presence._

_I stop and wait for him to say something – anything – that might explain why we are here, but the man only stares on blankly. The silence stretches until it becomes uncomfortable. I shift my weight from foot to foot, unable to hide my unease._

_The man suddenly leans forwards and opens his mouth as if to speak. _

_I reel backwards as a fountain of blood pours from his gaping maw, blotches of crimson splashing across the table, dripping onto the stone floor. He smiles a red smile, flesh peeling from his face, revealing bone and muscle beneath. I can only stare in silent horror. Lidless eyes stare back, drinking in my fear. With a loud scraping sound the flayed man pushes the golden chair away from the table and rises._

_My feet connect with something soft. I glance down and see that it is a body. He is sprawled across the floor, spine bent in an unnatural position, pale eyes blind to the world. I recognize the boy's round youthful face, his unruly mop of dark hair and I clasp a hand over my mouth._

_There is another corpse close by, and another, and another. The previously empty hall is now full of cadavers. I stagger away, gaze sweeping over the ghoulish scene, pausing on familiar faces._

_A door appears of the far side of the hall and I sprint towards it without hesitation, wanting to put as much distance as possible between myself and the morbid tableau. The dead boy watches me go, empty eyes accusing. The echoing laughter has resumed, joyful and carefree. It mocks me. _

_I reach the door and barrel through it, slamming the solid wood behind me. I find the bolt and ram it home. For a second I stand there, my heavily panting and beating heart the only sounds to be heard. I slowly turn._

_This new room is pitch-black. There is nothing to see but darkness. I take a hesitant step forwards, half expecting to drop off the edge of some deep yawning pit, but with a low thud my foot meets solid stone. The sound rings out, ricocheting off unseen walls and thrown back to my ears tenfold. Thud, thud-thud, thud thud… A drumming tattoo, prelude to some sinister affaire._

_A low growl answers the call, rolling from the depth of the room. Something is stirring in the deep, shrouded in darkness, invisible to my eyes. I edge back, groping for the door, but my hand finds nothing. I am trapped._

_The Thing approaches. I hear its body in motion, powerful muscles flexing and stretching, sliding closer. Something brushes against my arm. I freeze, fear grinding my feet to the ground, paralyzing me as surly as a body-bind-curse. The creature twists, slowly circling me. Suddenly, its springs, wrapping itself around my body like a serpent, wrenching a startled cry from my lips. I shout, struggling against the powerful embrace. I feel the Thing's body, and yet it seems as though it __**has**__ no body. My mind reels, unable to wrap my head around the phenomenon. How can something be neither cold, or hot, or warm? Neither smooth nor rough? I am being suffocated by a creature with no corporal form, a monster of air made solid._

_Hot breath tickles the back of my neck. "The She-elf cannot touch you," a voice murmurs in my ear. A cold hand clasps around my heart, squeezing painfully. "You are mine."_

_The coils contract and I choke out a scream._

"_Mine…"_

oooOOOooo

I was jerked into consciousness by a sharp pain in my left arm. Yelping, I swatted at the crow pecking my flesh. The startled bird beat its wings and took to the air, cawing indignantly. Squinting, I could see more scavengers circling the sky above me, little black dots striking a sharp contrast with the overwhelming blue. I pushed myself into a sitting position, squinting against the glare of the sun, wincing as my abdomen flared up in pain.

"That's right, suckers," I croaked angrily, glaring at the birds through puffy eyes. "I'm not dead yet!" The words scraped at my throat, coming out hoarse and guttural.

My head swam as I tried to stand. The motion caused fresh pain to lick across my midsection and I bent over, placing my head between my knees, stifling a moan. Water lapped at my feet, soaking my buttocks. The sun felt hot and unpleasant against my skin. I glanced around and spotted a small cluster of trees a short distance away from where I was crouching. I half-crawled, half-dragged myself into their shade. There, I collapsed against the nearest trunk, pressing my back to the rough bark.

Fragments of my dream were starting to bubble to the surface, each more distorted that the last. I had been in… the Great Hall? A dark room? I shook my head sharply. The dream was fading away, slipping through my fingers like sand …_Something stirring in the deep_… I shuddered, cold fingers creeping down my spine. I reached for my cloak, wanting to wrap myself in the heavy fabric, and came up short. For a second I was confused – Where had my cloak gone? – then the memories came flooding back.

The bridge, the Stranger… the water.

_Merlin's beard._

How long had I been out? Not nearly long enough given the state of my pounding head and overly sore muscles. The sun was at its peak in the sky, indicating that it was sometime after midday. So, what…six hours? Seven? My eyelids drooped. The prospect of sleep was incredibly appealing but my mind rebelled against it, urging me to stay awake. I couldn't afford the luxury of rest, not while the company drifted east, slipping farther away with each passing second.

My hand slid to my belt, searching for the short sword. The sheath was empty. The blade must have been lost in the current along with the rest of my belongings. For a second, I was gripped by the same sense of dread that I'd felt upon discovering I had lost my wand. My stomach started doing little backflips and I glanced around, suddenly wary of my surroundings.

It was with some surprise that I noted the river had actually brought me closer to the mountains. They loomed before my vision in a chain of peaks, their summits submerged in grey clouds. The air smelt of rain. My injuries were not severe, the most extensive being a huge purple bruise extending along my mid-section where I'd fallen on the bridge. It was tender to the touch and hurt to an almost unbearable level when I finally heaved myself to a standing position, but after a few tentative steps the pain dimmed to a dull ache. I found a solid-looking branch washed up on the bank and propped it under my arm, using it to disperse my weight.

There was no reason for me to linger by the river and so I started towards the mountains at a slow, limping pace, leaning heavily on my makeshift walking stick. It was essential that I keep moving. The Stranger might believe that I had drowned in the river but that didn't mean he wouldn't send out a search party to recover my body. And if he found me alive… well, I was fairly confident I wouldn't remain that way for very long.

My lips twisted upwards in wry smile. As bitter as I felt about the whole ordeal, the Stranger's logic was one I could understand: Anything unknown is a potential threat – no matter its age or gender. The encounter with the insane witch and wizard from my world had fortified Saruman's resolve to eradicate the danger before it became unmanageable, and if that train of action led to eliminating a eighteen-year-old witch whose only crime was having the misfortune of finding herself in the wrong place at the wrong time … well, it was regrettable, but it ultimately served the bigger picture.

I had to tip my hat to such a Slytherin frame of mind.

As the day progressed the sky grew darker. I could feel static in the air, a promise of later storm. The wind picked up, blowing through the tall grass of the plain I was crossing in rippling waves. I wondered if the company had passed this way – if we were even headed to the same location. During the past couple of nights Balin had taken to pulling out various maps of the surrounding wilderness and spreading them out beside the firelight, debating with Thorin on the best path to take through the mountain. They had both finally agreed on the High Pass, a navigable track situated somewhere in the center of the mountain chain. At first, Balin had been wary, pointing out that those parts of the mountain were rumored to be scouted by goblins after nightfall. He suggested the company try the Redhorn Pass. Thorin had rejected the idea, declaring that the detour would cost them too much time.

I trudged along in the general direction both dwarves had finally agreed on, hoping that the oncoming downpour would force the company to find someplace dry and stay put until morning. It shouldn't have worried me, but I had traveled with them long enough to know by now that the stubbornness of dwarves sometimes overrode their common sense. If Thorin decided to deviate from Gandalf's plan and cross the mountain that night in order to save time, then I might as well abandon the thought of ever catching up.

Hunger gnawed at my gut, constantly reminding me that I had skipped breakfast, lunch and – very soon – dinner. My stomach rumbled loudly and I rooted around in my pocked for another handful of dandelion leaves. I stuffed them in my mouth, tongue recoiling under their bitter taste, and forced myself to chew. The grassy plain was full of these useful weeds. My knowledge of Wild Mountain berries was too limited to risk poisoning myself, and so I had taken advantage of a short rest to collect as many leaves, roots and yellowed flowers as possible, well aware that such abundant food source would be scarce once I ventured into the rocky mountain landscape.

To keep my mind off the hunger, I let my thoughts stray to the conversation I'd overheard on the open-air porch – and the mine of information I'd uncovered.

Somewhere in this vast and unknown land another witch was hiding. I sincerely hoped our paths would never cross – Everything I had learnt about this woman screamed _murdering psychopath_ and yet, somehow, it gave me hope to think that I was not alone in my situation. Had she also been killed? Had she too felt the cold hand clasping around her hart, forcing it to pump blood throughout her lifeless body?

Where there others like us out there? Witches and wizards hiding their magic, blending in with the inhabitants of this world, waiting for help to come?

And did this necromancer, this powerful sorcerer with the ability to manipulate death, have anything to do with our resurrection?

I had learnt a lot from eavesdropping on the council's meeting – more than I had in two weeks of puzzling and muddling through my own limited quantity of information, but instead of putting my mind at ease a thousand new questions were suddenly whirling around my head. It was beyond frustrating.

The grass around me thinned, giving way to hard soil and jagged rocks. I slowed my pace, searching the mountain for some hint of a pathway that the company might have taken. Finding nothing, I guessed that I must have strayed too far, and decided to try my luck a little farther south. A small knot of worry was beginning to build in my gut, gnawing at my already-thinning confidence. Before long I began second-guessing myself. What if something had gone wrong? Could it be that the dwarves and Bilbo had not reached the mountain? Had Balin managed to persuade his king to take another route, or had something more sinister befallen them? The questions piled up with alarming speed, fueling the doubt in my mind.

I was just starting to consider the idea of doubling back in the hopes of finding company's trail farther north when something caught my eye – a faint glimmer on the rock-strewn ground. I hunkered down, ignoring the rippling pain in my mid-section, and examined the object of my attention.

A neat little pile of pebbles had been gathered to form a pyramid, far too perfect in structure to be accidental. Balanced on the very top was a single brass button. I reached out and picked it up, surprised to find that I recognized the acorn engraved on the surface. I had seen buttons like this before, fastened to Bilbo's red coat – but what on earth was this one doing…?

A wide grin spread across my face as I realized what this meant. I leapt to my feet, wincing as the swift motion aggravated the bruise, and started walking at a slow pace towards the mountain, gaze sweeping across the ground for anything out of the ordinary. Sure enough, barely fifteen minutes into my hunt I spotted another button, this time sitting in the precise center of a large smooth stone.

I was caught between gratitude and exasperation at the hobbit's expense. If someone other than me had stumbled upon the glaringly obvious trail he was leaving behind then the company was in for another action-packed night. I hoped for both our sakes he _at least_ remained discreet – I shuddered to think what Thorin would do if he caught Bilbo discarding his possessions so freely. Probably throw the hobbit into a crevice. After having skinned him alive.

Chuckling slightly, I plucked the small brass object of the ground and rose to my feet. A certain warmth had settled in my chest, chasing away some of my fear and doubt. It was heartening to know that at least _someone_ had my back in this desperate hour. I slipped the second button in my pocket along with the first and resumed my hike, eyes peeled for anything else my accomplice may have left behind to help find my way.

oooOOOooo

A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, throwing the path into sharp contrast. A moment later the night was filled with a deafening roar. I struggled against the gale, one hand gripping the jagged mountainside, trying not to think of the sharp drop three feet away. My hair was plastered to my face, cold rain dripping into my eyes, limiting my vision to a watery tunnel. I squinted, trying to make out the path ahead.

Bilbo's trail had led me through the lush grassy plain to the very foot of the mountain, leaving clues of his passing in extremely obvious places. I had to admire his determination and stealth – it was one thing to casually drop a button on a passing stone, another to then hoist said stone to the top of an earthy mound without arising the suspicion of his fellows. Once again I found myself reevaluating my previous opinion of our humble burglar – the little hobbit was truly full of surprises.

The path the company had chosen was a hard and dangerous one. In some places it was wide and I could walk without difficulty, in others it grew treacherously narrow, sometimes disappearing altogether where the stone had broken off. I was forced to jump these gaps, heart springing to my mouth at each leap, pulse racing in fearful exhilaration. I had left the makeshift crutch behind at the start of my climb, no longer needing it to support my weight. Up and up I went, temperature dropping with every step. Soon my breath was coming out in white puffs and I was rubbing my hands together, trying to recapture a little warmth. I regretted losing my cloak in the river and thought longingly of the thick green cloth, a sure protection against the bitter cold.

At some point Bilbo had run out of buttons to discard, and he had been forced to become creative. My pockets were soon filled with a number of small objects one might carry while traveling – that is, if one was a hobbit – A white handkerchief he had no doubt acquired in Rivendell, red string carefully tied around a gnarled tree branch, a thimble… The list went on.

My supply of dandelions ran out later that evening, but I was speared from going hungry when I found Bilbo's next clue: three sticks of dried meat tightly wrapped in grey cloth. I was flooded with giddying relief as I retrieved his offering from under the stone where he'd placed it, along with the small pair of scissors he'd left on the path, pointing in the food's direction. Dandelion leaves and roots possess many good qualities, and they are probably the most nutritious leafy vegetables you'll find, but my body was in dire need of something more filling. I immediately wolfed one down, swearing to never mistake the hobbit's kindheartedness for gullibility again.

All in all, I had been feeling fairly confident as the day waned away.

And then the rain had started.

At first it had only been a light drizzle, more an inconvenience that an actual hindrance. Things had rapidly escalated, however, and all too soon I was hugging the mountainside as the wind whipped around me in frightful force. I was high up in a narrow place, with a dizzying fall into a dim valley at one side of me. The rain pelted down, soaking through my tunic right down to my bones. I inched forwards at an agonizingly slow pace, clutching the stone wall like a life ring.

Lightening forked through the sky, illuminating the valley with blinding white light. I gasped as two colossal figures were thrown into focus, as tall as the mountains themselves. They crashed together, wrestling in a display of terrifying strength. A second later the stone giants had disappeared, swallowed once again by the all-consuming darkness. Thunder rolled across the valley, vibrating in my chest.

I forced my numb body into motion, very much aware of the battle being waged above my head.

My absorption with the heavens was such that I neglected to keep an eye open for more obvious dangers along the mountain path. Something crashed into my legs, knocking me off balance. I threw myself to the side, hissing as I landed heavily on my stomach. For a second I lay motionless, gasping at the throbbing pain in my midsection – then a hand gripped my hair, wrenching my head upwards. I felt the cool kiss of steel against my throat.

"Not one word," a familiar voice growled in my ear.

I craned my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the attacker, but a sudden weight pressed down on my spine, forcing me to the ground. The blade pressed harder against my throat in warning. "Don't move."

Another flash of lightning split through the sky, projecting our shadows against the mountainside. I heard a gasp.

"Fili, wait!"

All of a sudden the hold on my scalp slackened and the pressure left my back. I pushed up, twisting around to face the Durin brothers. Fili's sword was drawn, rain dripping down the edge of the steel. He held the weapon slightly raised between us as if he were still half expecting to have to use it. Kili stood at his side, clasping his brother tightly by the shoulder. I realized it was he who had pulled Fili away. Behind the two dwarves I could see was a narrow hole in the stone wall, impossible to notice from a distance.

There was a moment of startled silence. Thunder clapped in the distance.

The brothers shared a glance. Fili's eyes were tight, his expression a mask of displeasure that strongly reminded me of his uncle. Kili, on the other hand, looked thoroughly amused. He strode forwards with his hand extended, grinning boyishly. "Well, if it isn't our lady of the north! You're a long way from Rivendell, Miss Morgan."

I accepted his outstretched hand, smiling ruefully as he pulled me to my feet. "Did you miss me?"

Kili threw back his head and laughed. "I'm afraid we've scarcely had the time, Cassie." He gestured to the narrow crack, pulling me out of the rain. "Come on. Let us regain shelter before we catch our deaths in this miserable weather."

I ducked into the gap, grateful to be out of the storm. Fili followed wordlessly, and I noticed he still hadn't sheathed his sword.

Dwalin's booming voice reached my ears as I stepped across the threshold into the blessedly dry cave: "Well? Was it a goblin or not?"

"Not a goblin, no," Fili answered stiffly from my left. He strode past me and addressed the dwarf king, who was seated at the far side of the cavern. "We have a visitor, uncle."

Twelve pairs of eyes swiveled around to the cave's entrance. I let my gaze sweep over the faces, surprised at my own relief that no one was missing. Surely I hadn't been worried about anything other than myself… had I? The dwarves were scattered in bands of twos and threes amongst the packs and bedrolls, their expressions ranging from astonishment to disapproval as they took in my wet, shivering form. Thorin slowly rose to his feet, his dark eyes unreadable. There was a collective intake of breath as everyone waited to see how the dwarf king would react to my unexpected return. For a long while the only sound to be heard was the incessant beating of rain on stone and the howling of the wind.

"Cassie?" A confused voice broke the hush. Oin stepped forwards, bushy eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline. "Good heavens girl, what on _earth_ happened to you?"

I glanced down at my clothes and noticed for the first time that they were coated with mud and grime. "I…fell into the river."

There was a second's silence – then the cave exploded in uproar. It seemed that every dwarf had an opinion to express on the matter of my reappearance – and not everything I heard was welcoming and friendly. I backed away, pressing myself against the stone wall and sliding down to the floor, watching as the scene unfolded before me. I spied Bilbo sitting a little apart from the group, watching mutely. The hobbit caught my eye tilted his head in a silent question. I nodded, pointing to my pockets where I'd stashed his belongings. He smiled a small, tired smile in response.

"SILENCE!" Thorin roared, bringing the argument to a sudden stop. "These mountains are home to many a foul creature. Do you wish to bring them down upon us with your meaningless squabbling?" He tuned abruptly and marched over to where I was sitting, eyes flashing in anger. He halted before me and I felt myself shrinking into the wall under the intensity of his stare. "How did you find us?" the dwarf king demanded.

In the corner of my eye I saw Bilbo shifting uncomfortably, fingers nervously tugging at his button-less coat.

I licked my dry lips and said, "I followed your trail from Rivendell."

A muscle twitched in Thorin's cheek. "Do you take me for a fool?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "You would have me believe you tracked our party down to this desolate part of the world by yourself?" His dark eyes zeroed in on the empty sheath attached to my belt. "And unarmed, to boot?"

I felt a small twinge of irritation at his words. "No," I snapped, "I flew here on the back of a giant pink pony called Twinkletoes. It had wings and farted rainbows. Ask your nephews if you don't believe me."

Thorin swelled up like a bullfrog. For a second, no one spoke. Then, unexpectedly the silence was interrupted by a load snort. "A giant pink pony?" Kili chuckled, leaning lazily against the stone wall, "Well, _that_ explains it. I _thought_ I saw something flying away through the storm." He dissolved again into laughter, this time joined by Dwalin.

"Aye, lad, that must have been something to behold!" the burly dwarf chortled, clapping Kili on the back and knocking the young dwarf off balance. "Good to have you back, lassie," he added, winking.

I said nothing, watching closely as the dwarf king's gaze found Bilbo, who was trying unsuccessfully to fade into the background. Thorin's eyes narrowed, leaving very little doubt as to whom he believed was responsible, and the hobbit's shoulders sagged ever so slightly in defeat.

"Miss Morgan," Thorin finally said in a flat voice, choosing to ignore my last phrase. "I thought I had made it perfectly clear during our last conversation that you were to remain in Rivendell. Are you so bold as to think you are above such commands, or did you simply believe this latest snub to my authority would change my mind?"

I opened my mouth – and closed it, realizing with some surprise that for all the time and effort I'd spent trying to _find _the company, I'd given very little thought as to what I would actually _say_ if I ever caught up.

Fortunately, Oin chose that moment to intervene. "Thorin," the healer cautioned, "Miss Morgan isn't going anywhere tonight – not in this weather. We might as well sleep on the matter and reach a decision on the morrow."

Dwalin huffed. "What is there to decide? Has Cassie not already proven her worth? She managed to track us down in the middle of a storm, after all! Does that not show her resourcefulness?

"What it shows is her recklessness." Gloin gestured at my exhausted person. "I doubt she would have gone much farther had Fili not heard a disturbance along the ledge and brought her inside. Look at her – shivering like a cat caught in a rainstorm!"

Dwalin snorted. "And we are hardly better off. The road has been hard on all of us, as it would have been on any man." He turned to face Balin, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchange. "What say you, brother?"

Balin toyed with the end of his white beard, sharp eyes assessing me – and I suddenly remembered that the old dwarf had been present on the balcony when in a fit of indignant anger I'd said those spiteful words to his king. After what seemed like an eternity Balin shook his head. "I am sorry lass," he said – and to my surprise, he sounded like he meant it. "You have shown resilience beyond anything I would have expected, but I fear our quest will only grow more perilous with each passing day. You have not the experience required to fully understand the dangers we will brave."

Dwalin scoffed. "I remember a time when you would have laughed in the face of danger. The years have not been kind to you, brother."

The old dwarf's composure loosened a little and he smiled at his younger sibling. "Perhaps," he said, "But they have gifted me with an old man's caution, for I have seen dragon fire and lived to tell the tale." His gaze became serious once more. "Erebor is no longer the great kingdom we remember it to be. Maybe you have forgotten Smaug's terrible power, but I have not, and therefore my opinion on the matter is set."

There was a brief hush during which the company considered his words, then Dwalin turned to the next dwarf. "Nori?"

My back straitened, a small crease appearing between my brows as I watched the scene more closely. Each dwarf had shuffled nearer, stepping over the packs and bedrolls until they formed a rough circle. I wasn't sure how it had happened exactly, but the conversation had shifted into something resembling a vote.

Nori shook his head. "I stand with Balin. The wilderness is no place for a girl."

Everyone turned to Ori and I realized with a jolt that there would be no sleeping on the problem as Oin had suggested. The matter was to be settled there and then, in the dimly-light cave while a thunderstorm raged around us. I quickly began counting the votes.

Ori smiled shyly and said, "I don't mind if Cassie stays."

Bombur shrugged, looking uninterested in the whole affair, but when Dwalin glowered the fat dwarf sighed and nodded, signaling his reluctant support.

The company turned to Kili, who grinned in a carefree way and said, "Why not? If we can find a place in our mists for Mister Baggins, I dare say Cassie should be given a chance as well. The more the merrier, I say!" There was quite a lot of eye rolling and silent head shaking when he said that last part, but no one contradicted him, and the vote went on.

"Well," Bilbo started to say when they reached his turn in the circle, "I think that Cassie should –," but Thorin's words sliced down on the hobbit's before he had even finished speaking. "Fili, what do you think?"

I frowned when the company averted their eyes, taking note of the sudden tension. For a second, I thought Bilbo might speak up to defend himself, but the hobbit merely dropped his head, shoulders sagging slightly. It dawned on me at that moment that something must have happened between the two of them when I'd been absent, something that had caused Thorin's opinion of the hobbit to hit rock-bottom.

Fili met his uncle's gaze and shook his head. _Big surprise there_. Then came Dori, who said yes, and Bifur, who said no (or at least, that's what I _assumed_ he said, but being that he only ever spoke in dwarvish, it was hard to tell). Oin smiled and declared that my knowledge in herbal remedies would be a great help to him seeing as none of the other dwarves knew anything on the subject. Gloin refused flat out, stating that the company already had their hands full with Bilbo and didn't need to be burdened with another inexperienced member.

That left only Bofur, who had been sitting with his feet propped up on a rock throughout the whole exchange, puffing smoke rings across the cave. He grinned when everyone finally turned to gaze at him expectantly, obviously enjoying the attention. "Well, well," he declared into the heavy silence, "We are at a draw!" He slowly removed his hat and made a show of sweeping off an imaginary speck of dust. "It seems I must be the one to break the tie, but what should I decide?" He sighed dramatically and said, voice positively oozing with sarcasm; "Such a grave dilemma must be thought out carefully."

Thorin shifted impatiently. "Enough with your theatrics. Cast your vote and be done with it."

Bofur propped the hat back onto his head and fixed his king with an amused look. "Very well." He paused, allowing the tension to build, and finally declared, "I say she stays."

The air escaped my lungs in a great _whoosh_ as I released the breath I had been holding. I glanced at Thorin, half afraid that he would override the dwarves' opinion and decide to send me packing anyway. The king met my gaze, his dark eyes far from content. "So be it," he said, his voice a low rumble.

And that was that. The dwarves all jumped to their feet at returned to whatever they had been doing before my interruption, as if the debate had never taken place. Dwalin clapped my arm in passing and Ori paused to ask whether I had sustained any lasting injuries on my hike from the elvish city, but other than that no one paid me the slightest attention. I stood there, shifting uncomfortable from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with myself.

Thorin strode to the far side of the cave without sparing me a glance and I wondered again why he had not put up more of a fight. If he objected to my presence so strongly, than why had he not simply ordered me to leave once the storm had passed? I slowly turned on the spot, watching the company closely. A band of homeless dwarves, I had called them. I suddenly saw that they were much, much more than that. They were a brotherhood, united not by blood, but by the goal they all shared, the all-consuming desire to take back what was theirs. Thorin had made their quest possible. He had given them hope that they might one day see their beloved mountain again and call it home. The dwarves followed him willingly, not by obligation to his name or title, but because the dwarf king had _earned_ their trust and respect.

And how could Thorin risk losing it over something as trivial as me?

My thoughts were interrupted as someone cleared their throat loudly from behind my back. I glanced over my shoulder to see that Bofur had not moved. "You're welcome," he said and blew out a perfect smoke-ring.

I raised one eyebrow. "I haven't thanked you yet."

He grinned, not upset in the slightest. "No, but you were about to. I just saved your hide, Miss Morgan. Your debt towards me grows daily."

I crossed my arms, smiling despite myself. A sense of giddying relief had settled in my stomach, and for once, I was not tempted to cut the discussion short. "Really?" I snorted, "And might I ask _why_ you felt the need to fly to my rescue?"

"Well," Bofur said matter-of-factly, "It seemed a shame to send you away after all the trouble our dear burglar went through to get you here. He thought he was being so discreet about it, bless him. I hope you were kind enough to retrieve all his belongings – I would hate to see Mister Baggins undergo the rest of our adventure without his pocket handkerchief." He hopped of the ground and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "And besides," he added, a spark of malice dancing in his eyes, "I wasn't about to let you out of my sight. If I recall correctly you still owe me money."

With that he collected his pipe and strode away, whistling tunelessly as he went.

oooOOOooo

Bilbo was sitting alone when I finally joined him, his eyes a little unfocused as he gazed into space. I plopped down on the stone floor beside him and rummaged around in my pocket, fishing out his buttons and other knickknacks, checking that no one was looking before handing them back to him. The hobbit jumped as if he hadn't heard my approach and wordlessly accepted his belongings, shooting a worried glance to the far side of the cave where Thorin had settled down for the night. I briefly considered telling him what Bofur had said but rejected the thought, deciding I needn't trouble him with the matter.

Bilbo shrugged of his coat and produced a needle from the inside of his pocked. He picked through the small pile of objects he'd left on the road until he retrieved the red string, the thimble and the brass buttons. I watched with some surprise as the hobbit then took to carefully sewing each discarded button to its rightful place on the coat, his movements slow and precise as if it were something he had done many times before. "I see you didn't follow my advice," he murmured without looking up.

It was a second before I realized he was referring to Gandalf and the fact that I hadn't waited for him. "Yeah," I said slowly, following the needle's movements with my eyes, "I tend to do that." I paused, then asked, "How did you know I wouldn't wait?"

A ghost of a smile played on the edges of the hobbit's lips. "Just a hunch."

We sat in silence for a while, lost in our respective thoughts. I half expected Bilbo to supply idle small talk as he had on previous occasions, but it seemed his heart wasn't in it. Whatever had happened between him and the dwarf king while I'd been away had struck his morale down to an all-time low, and for the first time since I'd met him, the hobbit looked depressed. It dawned on me then that I should probably say something to make him feel batter, something to uplift his spirits – it seemed only fair after all he had done for me – but I hadn't the faintest idea _what_. Frustration welled up inside me. I knew I should at _least_ find some way to express my gratitude, but somehow I felt that simply saying '_thank you_' wasn't enough. The words were superficial – just a series of sounds emitted from the mouth, bearing very little weight or meaning. I cleared my throat and waited for him to meet my eyes. Bilbo arched one eyebrow in question, needle hovering in space above his red coat.

"I…I just wanted to say…" I began, hating the awkwardness in my voice. I paused, licked my lips and tried again: "Gloin's right. I don't think I would have gone much farther if Fili and Kili hadn't found me on the ridge, but…" My voice faltered and I ploughed on, refusing to give myself the chance to chicken out, "…but I would never have even made it that far without your help. So…thanks. For helping me, I mean."

Bilbo nodded, smiling faintly, but his eyes remained clouded and distant. "Don't mention it," he said easily, and returned to his sewing.

I frowned. I could tell that the hobbit wanted something more from me, but I had had nothing more to give. I thought again about the way Thorin had dismissed Bilbo's vote, cutting across him as though had not even been there. Should I ask Bilbo whether or not he wanted to talk about it? That's what people did in these kinds of situations after all – they discussed their problems and worked through them together. It was one of those damned social rules I was so ill acquainted with. I had spent the past seven years of my life carefully avoiding all circumstances that might lead to such conversations, and I found myself shying away from this one almost instinctively.

"Right. Well… good night then," I said, avoiding his eyes as I turned away.

"Good night," Bilbo replied absently, his attention focused on the task at hand.

I hesitated, then sighed and strode away. _Tomorrow_, I reassured myself as looked around for a spot to lie down. _I'll find the right words tomorrow_. _It's not like he will have disappeared overnight._

I had neither bedroll nor cloak to wrap around myself, but I was so tired I hardly noticed. No sooner had I settled down than a feeling of peace washed over me, bringing me closer to unconsciousness. In that moment I forgot about the giants waging war over our heads, about the mystery witch huddled somewhere in the darkness, about the Stranger and his resolve to end my life. I drifted off to sleep in seconds.

oooOOOooo

Somewhere close by, a hobbit sat alone, staring at the stone wall of the cave without truly seeing it. The red coat lay by his side, all but forgotten.

oooOOOooo

**I think I can squeeze two more chapters out of this before stopping and waiting for the next film to be released. I absolutely ADORED Peter Jackson's portrayal of the dwarves, which is why I would rather wait than continue with the book (even though I love Tolkien's work as much as JK Rowling's. The Hobbit and Harry Potter are the two best books ever written in my opinion ^^).**

**I actually finished this chapter about four days ago but have been unable to find a Wi-Fi connection to post it online. GAAARH. **

**So, yeah… please review! As usual, I hope everyone stayed in character. Cheerio! **

**One last thing: I feel I should explain Fili's behavior towards Cassie. Thorin doesn't have any children, so that makes Fili next in line to the throne. He's probably under a lot of pressure from his uncle, unlike his brother Kili who is a lot more laid back and carefree. I thought it would be more interesting to have them react differently to Cassie's presence amongst them (due to the slight difference in their upbringing) rather than to just make them into dwarvish versions of Fred and George.**


	16. Inflamare

**Soooooooo… about this chapter. It's a **_**little**_** more graphic than in the film. That being said, it's nowhere **_**near**_** as gory as Kill Bill, but still a little unexpected if you were hoping for the clean bloodless fighting from Peter Jackson's version of the events. **

**I also took a few liberties with this chapter. You'll see what I mean if you decide to read on. If you're upset about the changes, then just **_**imagine**_** that Cassie was far too wrapped up in trying not to get stabbed to notice all the acrobatic stunts that took place as the company was running for their lives.**

**Inflamare**

I slept poorly that night, my dreams plagued by whispers and half conjured memories. The Great Hall danced behind my eyelids, alight with flames and the blinding flashes of curses. Reality merged with fantasy to create a new and terrifying nightmare as Death Eaters' masks fell away to reveal the leering faces of orcs. Again, I saw the boy sprawled on the ground, spine broken, staring up at me accusingly. '_Why didn't you stop me?_' his eyes seemed to say. '_I don't know why_,' I wanted to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. The past was assaulting me, breaking through the walls I had painstakingly erected after the Final Battle to keep the memories at bay. The Lady of Lothlorien had beaten the walls to rubble, tearing them apart with her Legilimency attacks until they gave way to her invading mind – and there was no repressing the images now.

'_Why are you doing this?_' my mother sobbed, her voice loud and distorted, '_Why are you pushing me away?_' I could almost see her leaning against the doorframe to my bedroom, tears streaming down her pinched face. She always looked so disappointed when she cried, as if I were somehow responsible for her anguish.

'_I did nothing!' _I screamed at the memory, even though I knew she couldn't hear,_ 'It was you – It was always you!' _Why couldn't she see it was all her fault? That she had ruined any chance of trust between us with that one, unforgivable lie? The image cracked like a mirror, breaking Elaine Morgan into a thousand shards of glass that shattered to the ground.

"Wake up!" Someone shouted through the murky enclosure of my dream. The owner of the voice sounded very far away, as if he were shouting from the depth of a long tunnel.

A girl's face swam into focus like a reflection on still water. _'He hasn't said a word since we found him.'_ Her sandy hair was greasy and matted. There was a shallow cut to her lower lip and a bruise blossoming over her temple. She shrugged helplessly. _'We don't know if he can't talk of if he just…won't_.'

"Wake up _NOW_!"

I awoke with a start to a dizzying sensation of vertigo. The ground was slipping beneath me. Surprised shouts rang in my ears as the company realized the cave floor was tilting. Still half submerged in sleep, I flailed around clumsily for something to cling to and found nothing. For a second, the Stranger's face loomed into view above me, his expression one of deep satisfaction as he watched me clinging to the edge of the bridge. Then my world tipped and I was falling for the second time in twenty-four hours.

There wasn't time to cry out. My body slammed onto a hard, smooth surface and immediately started sliding, gathering speed. A multitude of beards and braids of all different length and color cartwheeled past my eyes as the dwarves hurtled with me down the twisting slope. I saw a flash of red in the corner of my eye that may have been Bilbo's coat. The tunnel twisted left, right and left again. I spun uncontrollably, my world reduced to the sharp whistling in my ears, the sensation of cold stone sliding beneath my body.

A _thud_ and groan sounded from somewhere below and a moment later I landed heavily on something soft and squishy, breaking my fall. It wheezed loudly and I realized it was Bombur. I had only a second to catch my breath before another body fell through the jagged hole in the ceiling and landed painfully on my stomach, wrenching a cry from both myself and the fat dwarf lying beneath me. I raised my head with some difficulty to see that we had landed into what resembled a giant wicker basket.

"Look out! Look out!" Kili shouted from somewhere within the mass of tangled dwarves. Everyone started moving at once, alerted by his cries and groping for their weapons as a chorus of whoops and cruel laughter echoed through the depth of the large cavern into which we'd landed. I pushed myself up and immediately regretted it when my midsection felt as if someone had lit a torch underneath it. I wheezed and fell back into a kneeling position, gaping as I caught sight of the creatures scrambling up the twisted path towards our party.

Their ugliness was such that I found it hard to wrench my gaze away, fascinated by the wretched creatures despite the immediate danger they represented. Their skin was so pale it boarded onto gray, as if it had never been exposed to the sun, and their lamp-like eyes reflected the torchlight in a way that convinced me they could see in the dark.

"Goblins!" Dwalin spat, fumbling at the ground for his mace, but too late – they were upon us. Clammy hands groped at my arms, twisting them behind my back. They overwhelmed us, wrenching the dwarves weapon's from their hands before they had the chance to use them. The company resisted, beating the creatures back with nothing but their bare hands. I saw Dwalin ram his head down on a goblin's scull with such force it tottered backwards and fell over the edge of the path and out of sight. I twisted and bit the hand clasping my arm, gagging as hot blood pooled into my mouth and throat. The goblin yelped and struck me sherply over the head with his other hand. I reeled backwards. It took advantage of my dazed state to secure my arms once more. By the time my ears had stopped ringing we were being forced into motion.

Our captives dragged us down rough, twisting paths that looked as though they had been carved into the rock by the creatures themselves. Over groaning bridges and rickety wooden walkways we ran, never pausing for breath as they led us deeper and deeper into the very heart of the mountain. At some point I heard sounds of a scuffle and twisted to see that Kili had managed to break away from his goblin only to be dragged back into the line by four more. They raked his flesh with their sharp claws and bit him, drawing blood, and after that there were no more attempts of escape.

New goblins joined the party along the way, jumping out from cracks and crawling down the walls like pale spiders, shrieking gleefully as they caught sight of their prisoners. Torches flared along the walls, lighting up the path and revealing a widening in the cave ahead.

We emerged into what looked like an underground city. Long, wooden platforms connected by shaky bridges covered the sides of the dome in a complicated network of passageways. The place was swarming with goblins, thousands upon thousands of them dotted all around the walls and ceiling, whooping and chanting in grating voices. My stomach started doing little flips as I took in their number, realizing that our chances of survival were close to nil.

_They haven't killed us yet_, I reminded myself as we were dragged down yet another passageway leading to a raised platform at the very center of the dome. _If they'd wanted us dead, they would have slit our throats as soon as we fell into their cave. They're keeping us alive for a reason._ I wasn't sure whether or not that was supposed to be a reassuring thought, but at least our prolonged lives meant that we still had a shot at escaping this hellhole.

The pathway widened and our party halted before a massive throne, as hideous as the creature sitting upon it. It was a goblin – that much was obvious – but it dwarfed all the others in size. Pustules and warts blossomed across its pale skin, giving it the appearance of melted wax. A rough crown made of jagged bones sat on the creature's head. There was a loud clatter as one of the goblins dropped our confiscated weapons besides the throne. The Goblin King heaved itself to its feet, flattening a couple of his smaller kin who hadn't cleared the way fast enough, and peered through watery eyes at his captives. "Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?" It intoned, massive chin wobbling as it spoke. "Spies? Thieves? _Assassins?_"

Kili and Bifur shifted their positions, shielding Thorin from view.

"Dwarves, your Malevolence," one of the smaller goblins supplied, "And a Man." His words were greeted with hisses and jeers from our audience. I thought it best not to correct them on account of my gender and carefully stooped down to dwarf level, trying my hardest not to stick out.

"_Dwarves_?"

"We found them on the front porch."

"Well don't just stand there," the Great Goblin thundered, "Search them!"

I repressed a shudder as the goblins jumped to their king's command. They pushed the dwarves around roughly, patting them down and extracting a number of smaller weapons from the folds of their clothes. Oin's ear-trumpet was torn away and thrown to the ground along with Ori's sling-shot and a several short daggers found in the lining of Fili's furs. I bit back a shriek as a thin, gnarled hand groped at my chest.

The goblin jumped back in surprise. "Female!" it hissed. Pale, misshapen heads turned in interest and the word was repeated, growing louder and louder until it became a chant, "_Female, female, female_!"

"What's this?" The Great Goblin loomed closer, shrewd little eyes dissecting our tight band. "_Oho_!" he crowed when he spotted me crouching at Bofur's side, "We have a lady in our mists!" The great dome resonated with cackles and mocking cries as our surrounding audience took in their leader's words – and their promise of later entertainment.

There was really no point in hiding so I slowly rose to my feet, drawing myself to my full height and trying my best not to look as nervous as I felt. I fixed the Great Goblin with a defiant glare which might have been more intimidating if the action hadn't been undermined by my visibly trembling knees.

The Great Goblin leered, casting a sardonic glance over the company. "Are She-dwarves such a rarity that you are forced seek the support of other races?" He smirked suggestively, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. In the corner of my eye I saw Gloin and Fili stir angrily, glaring daggers and the Goblin king – but neither took the bait.

With an almighty creaking sound the Great Goblin heaved himself back onto his throne. He extended a massive arm the size of a small tree trunk and gestured me forward. "Come closer, sweetling, so I may look at you."

I would like to say I had been immune to the jeers and taunts of the surrounding goblins, that I proudly stood my ground in the face of humiliation, but in truth I doubt I could have moved even if I'd _wanted_ to. There was something profoundly disturbing about the way the Great Goblin's eyes were traveling up and down my person. It made me want to fold myself up like a sheet of paper until I became so small he would no longer be able to apprise me with his leering gaze.

The Goblin's eyes darkened when I did not immediately oblige and he brought his massive fist crashing down on the armrest of his throne. "I said, come _closer_." The whole platform trembled under his strength and I found myself taking a shaky step forwards, half afraid that if I aggravated him farther, he would cause us all to topple down into the gaping pit below.

"Cassie, _no_," I heard Bofur hiss, but I didn't stop. Now that I had started walking a little courage was seeping back into my heart, enough for me to hold the Goblin's gaze as I halted before his throne. I jutted my chin up in defiance, silently daring him to try anything.

He was not impressed in the slightest. "_Tut, tut_," he said, taking in my disheveled appearance with a look of mock sorrow, "It is saddening to see such a frail young thing so heavily scarred."

I squared my shoulders and said, "I give as good as I get," in what I had intended as a threatening growl but sounded more to my ears like a nervous squeak.

The Great Goblin suddenly leant forwards in a movement far more fluid than seemed possible for such a monstrous creature, until our faces were only inches apart. I flinched, revolted by the way his skin gleamed wetly in the torchlight like some kind of massive jellyfish washed up on the shore. "Do I frighten you, child?" he inquired, hot, foul smelling breath rippling through my hair. I could see tiny red veins crisscrossing through the whites of his eyes. "Does the sight of my face send your pulse a-racing?" His massive hand shot out and gripped my shoulder, squeezing painfully. "Does the thought of my touch curdle your blood like rich milk?" His nostrils flared and I was unable to keep a faint whimper from escaping my lips.

"Unhand her."

The deep voice was so unexpected it shocked me right out of my panic. The Great Goblin's eyes flickered upwards at the interruption and I twisted my head as far as his clammy grip would allow. Thorin had pushed his way to the front of the group, his cold gaze as hard as forged steel. If not for the dwarves' wary expressions as they let their king draw the Goblin's attention away from my person I would have doubted he had spoken at all.

"Well, well, _well_! Look who it is!"

The hold on my shoulder loosened and I was shoved brusquely to the side. I twisted and thrust out my hands to break the fall, sparing myself the pain of landing flat on my damaged stomach. When it became clear I was no longer of interest to their leader two smaller goblins seized me by the scruff of my neck and I was dragged back to the group of dwarves.

The Great Goblin's voice boomed over the commotion as he addressed the dwarf king. "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain." I pulled away from my handlers to see that he had sunk forwards into a mocking bow. Thorin looked unfazed as the Great Goblin straitened – a taunting gleam dancing in the depth his watery eyes. "Oh, but I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain." His lips pulled back into a derisive grimace. "And you're not a king, which makes you… Nobody really."

Around me the dwarves bristled, insulted on their king's behalf, even though Thorin himself refused to dignify the Goblin's taunts with anything more than a glower of upmost loathing. His unspoken contempt did not seem to register as the Great Goblin's smirk shifted into something more ominous and he said, "I know someone who would pay a pretty price for you head. Just a head," he patted his enormous belly, guffawing loudly, "Nothing attached." Pale eyes watched closely as his implied words took their toll.

Thorin remained stoic, though whether it was out of ignorance or stubborn refusal to show the Goblin any kind of reaction, I did not know. Our guards shifted excitedly, sensing that the slowly building tension was about to reach its peak and I snuck a glance towards the pile of confiscated weapons, wondering whether or not I would have the opportunity to grab something sharp before it did.

"Perhaps you know of whom I speak. An old enemy of yours."

At my side, Balin leant forwards ever so slightly, unconsciously expressing his desire to stand at his king's side, or perhaps to shield him from the oncoming truth, and I remembered the knowing look the old dwarf had shared with Gandalf on the first night of our journey, at the end of his retelling of the Battle of Moria.

The Great Goblin ploughed on, determined to get a rise out of the stoic dwarf before him. "A pale orc astride a white warg."

That triggered a response. Thorin slowly lifted his chin, gaze narrowing. "Azog the Defiler was destroyed." His low voice trembled with barely-contained fury – but there was a slight undercurrent to his tone, a lurking doubt beneath the conviction of his claim. "He was slain in battle long ago."

This was the reaction the Great Goblin had been waiting for. He laughed cruelly, massive chin bobbing. "So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" Abruptly he turned away as if the dwarf king no longer held any interest to his eyes. The platform creaked ominously as he shifted his colossal weight back a few steps and spoke to a smaller goblin. "Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize." The goblin nodded eagerly and bounded out of sight. I watched him go with a sickening feeling of dread, realizing that our troubles had just worsened considerably.

"And now," our captor intoned, raising his voice so that it resonated throughout the dome and snatched my attention once more, "How should we entertain our other guests? We only have use for one after all!"

There was a deafening roar. "_Bone-Breaker!"_ the goblins shrieked, "_Skin-Shredder!"_

The Great Goblin leered. "Bring up the contraptions!" With a flurry of movement his minions leapt into action. We were grabbed and jostled once more while the screeching around us piqued to an earsplitting level. The dwarves responded to this callous treatment with shouted insults, adding to the din. Thorin remained motionless, his gaze lost in space. I wanted to reach out and slap some sense into him, but at that moment the Great Goblin's eyes found me for the second time crouching amidst the dwarves.

"Ladies first," he crooned, and the malice I saw in their watery depth was enough to chase away any thought save for those dedicated to my own survival.

Then several things happened at once.

There was a terrible squeal and a loud clatter as one of the goblins who had been examining Thorin's sword jumped back suddenly, dropping the blade as if it were fresh from the flames from which it had been forged. The Great Goblin howled at the sight of it. "_I know that sword!_" he bellowed, scrambling back onto his ugly throne in his haste to get away from the weapon. "It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!"

Screams of fury erupted from all around and suddenly the goblins were beating us, scratching our flesh with their bare hands as their leader quailed upon his throne, howling for our blood. With more force than I had thought myself capable of I rammed my shoulder into the nearest goblin, knocking up both off balance. We crashed to the ground, its knee catching me in the gut and sending a lick of white hot up pain through my abdomen. My head swam and for a second my vision was reduced the grubby planks of the platform and wrinkled goblin skin.

Then the world exploded in bright light.

It stabbed painfully at my eyes and I threw my arms up to protect them against the blinding glare. Bodies fell heavily around me. I heard dwarves cursing and goblins shrieking, but it was no longer possible to tell one from the other. My right hand made contact with a smooth and cold object and I gripped it without thinking, eager for something to cling to.

The light died just as suddenly as it had come and darkness fell. I shifted groggily, too dazed to take advantage of the temporary stillness around me as our captors groaned and struggled to stand.

A familiar voice boomed through the cavern. "Take up arms! Fight! _FIGHT_!"

_Gandalf._

My hand tightened around the cold object and with a grunt I pushed myself upwards, pulling the ugly sword from the goblin's sheath in the process. The metal hissed and the goblin's eyes snapped open. It reared up. I plunged the blade into its neck without thought. The sword passed through with surprisingly little resistance, delving into the goblin's flesh as if it were nothing more than soft butter. It came out red and dripping from the other side. The goblin convulsed. It tried to shout something but blood was filling its mouth, pouring over its sharp teeth and down its front. Its body jerked one last time before going limp, wide eyes staring blankly at the domed ceiling it could no longer see.

The cave erupted into madness. Dwarves scrambled for their weapons. Swords were unsheathed, filling the air with the sharp ring of steel against steel.

I cannot recall with precision my exact actions after pulling the sword from the dead goblin's throat. Time seemed to slow – past and future blurring together, fading until there was nothing left but the instant and the deeply rooted need to survive Suddenly I was in motion – although I could not recall ordering my body forwards.

There was no elegance in the blows I delivered, no skill to boast about. My movements were unpracticed and without technique, rendering my kills sloppy and clumsy. Goblins reared before me and I struck them down mindlessly, slashing wildly at their bodies with the giddying speed of those touched by battle fever. I could no longer feel the bruises on my midsection or the aching in my legs. My body seemed to vanish – pain and fatigue waning away before the all-consuming urge to _keep moving_, to _keep fighting_.

"Follow me! _Quick!_" Gandalf shouted over the chaos.

I have no memory of breaking through the horde of goblins holding us captive. One second I was on the raised platform, the next my heart was racing in my mouth as I pelted down the narrow walkways, sprinting after the wizard as he lead the company to safety. Goblins leapt onto our path. The dwarves spun, hacking and jabbing and stabbing – a morbid dance, as mesmerizing as it was terrifying.

I stopped feeling, I stopped thinking – there was nothing left, only the fight, the foe, this goblin and then the next, and the next, and the next… Some I killed, some I wounded, but always there were more, crawling over the corpses of the fallen, out of jagged holes in the walls and cracks in the floors, _always more_…

At some point my terror fled, replaced by pumping adrenalin, and it seemed to me that every goblin I faced _reeked_ of fear, and it made me want to laugh because they were so _slow_, and I felt so alive, and death and the scent of blood was everywhere, so thick in the air that it made my head reel, and I knew I had to keep moving, I had to keep killing because otherwise my body would join the others sprawled on the ground with their throats cut open and their wide eyes staring into space.

I remained blessedly numb to the blows of my enemies. My body had fallen into a kind of mindless trance, instinct overruling everything. Some dim part of my mind informed me that I was being cut by goblin swords whilst the other, stronger part overrode the first, whispering that there would be time for pain later, when I had left this hellhole far, far behind.

_One more goblin, and another, and another, and another_…

I didn't know how long we had been running or even where we were headed, I had stopped paying attention to our surroundings as soon as our flight had begun, but the sudden slap of cool air was unmistakable against my skin which felt hot and sticky with congealing blood. I sucked in the cold and knew with gut-wrenching certainty that we were nearing the end of the cave. I spurred myself forwards, aching to be outside, away from this dark and gritty nightmare where it seemed I would never feel the warmth of the sun again. We neared a bridge overstretching a gaping crevice and beyond it I could see the faint shimmer of daylight…

With a roar and shattering of planks the Great Goblin burst up through the scaffolding like some kind of ghastly jack-in-a-box. He reared up, dominating us with his massive seize, cutting across our path. I spun round to see that the passageway behind was swarming with smaller goblins. We were trapped.

"You thought you could escape me?" The Great Goblin thundered, gasping for breath, sweaty skin gleaming in the torchlight. He brought his great club crashing down on the boards.

Gandalf, who had been in the lead, leaped back to avoid being crushed. He stumbled and regained his balance, aided by Ori and Oin.

The Great Goblin roared. "What are you going to do now wizard?" he gloated, taking one menacing step forwards. The boards trembled and cracked beneath his weight.

Quick as a flash, the old mad darted forwards and struck the Great Goblin on the nose with his staff. The beast reared back, howling, and with one swift motion Gandalf slashed its belly wide open. For a second, the Great Goblin stood motionless, gaping down at his protruding belly as a gush of blood and intestines steamed from the gash. Then his knees gave way and he came crashing down. "Well, that'll do it," he muttered, massive hands fluttering about his stomach like two giant meaty insects, trying to staunch the flow.

Gandalf delivered a second blow, this time to the throat, and the Great Goblin toppled forwards. His massive bulk hit the scaffolding and the bridge groaned, creaking ominously. I staggered as it suddenly lurched, grabbing onto a solid-looking plank just in time as the rickety wooden structure collapsed under the combined weight of the company and the dead Goblin, into the gaping pit below.

The fall seemed to go on forever, although in reality it could not have lasted more than fifteen seconds. We hurtled downwards, gathering speed, gripping the remains of the bridge with all our might. It crashed against the sides of the gorge, wrenching cries and curses with each jolt from the dwarves around me as they clung on for dear life, and then, _finally_, the scaffolding landed at the bottom of the pit with a jolt that vibrated through my entire body. My teeth snapped together under the impact and I almost bit my tongue off. The shock resonated through my scull and for a second I lay in absolute stillness, too shaken to even marvel at my miraculous survival.

One by one the dwarves started to immerge from the wreckage, coughing and groaning. I forced myself to move, shoving the broken planks to free my legs, and made a quick note of my physical condition. Nothing appeared to be broken, although there were a substantial number of new gashes and cuts on my arms and legs that joined the steadily growing list of injuries I had sustained since my arrival in Middle-earth. I crawled away from the debris and staggered to my feet.

"Gandalf!" Kili's voice cut across the silence.

I spun and felt my stomach drop. A sea of goblins was flowing down the sides of the gorge – thousands and thousands of them. There were too many of them, we were outnumbered.

Panic sparked in my gut. "We have to go!" I shouted, turning to face the wizard. "Which way do we run?"

"This way!" Gandalf replied, stooping down to help Ori to his feet. "Only daylight can save us now!"

We ran, the sounds of our heavy breathing and thudding feet drowned out by the cries and jeers of our pursuit as the goblins gained on us. I found myself falling behind as Gandalf led us down a narrow crack in the side of the gorge, barely wide enough for us to pass through single-file. The air smelt cleaner up ahead, and I willed myself forwards, realizing with a twinge of desperation that the distance between myself and the rest of the company was slowly increasing as I fell more and more behind. The battle fever was slowly ebbing away and my bruised side was starting to pulse painfully, my breath coming out in short gasps.

I stumbled and cried out, the sound echoing off the narrow walls of the passageway. Fili paused, alerted by my shout, and shot a glance over his shoulder. He hesitated only for a second before cursing and scrambling back up the passageway to help. I pushed to my feet, leaning heavily on the wall for support. The dwarf prince had almost reached me when something caught his attention over my shoulder, causing his eyes to widen in shock. "Look out!" he shouted, raising his sword, but he was too far away.

A gnarled hand grabbed me by the shoulder. I twisted, colliding with the side of the cave in my haste. Sharp teeth closed down over my left arm. I shouted in pain and brought the hilt of my sword swinging down sharply, knocking the goblin away with a sickening _crack_. It shrieked and the hold on my arm loosened, allowing me to wrench away. Blood pulsed down my arm, hot and steaming. The sword fumbled from my grasp, clattering noisily to the ground. I clamped my right hand over the pulsing wound and staggered backwards just as the goblin recovered from the blow and lunged for a second time, sharp teeth gleaming red.

Fili shouted.

The goblin snarled.

I thrust out my blood soaked hand like a shield between us.

"_Inflamare!_" The word tumbled from my lips without invitation and I was momentarily surprised by my reflex.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, in a dizzying surge I felt my magic respond to the incantation, flaring up in my chest and pulsing down my outstretched arm with alarming speed. This was not the timid flicker I'd conjured up after the troll attack, neither was it the whirling gale I'd invoked in Elrond's gardens. Fire exploded from my palm in a wave of blistering heat, throwing long shadows across the passageway. The goblin recoiled, eyes widening in shock. It tried desperately to change its course, twisting away from the threat – but too late, the flames had engulfed it, coiling around its pale, twisted body like a red-hot serpent. It shrieked and fell to the ground, thrashing wildly as the fire ate away at its skin. Flesh crackled, fat sizzled, a sickly-sweet sent wafted into my nostrils.

I felt I should be gagging, but my focus was slowly slipping away from the ghoulish scene. The wretched creature's squeals seemed distant to my ears as if I was being submerged into deep water. The magic thrummed through me, flooding every inch of my body, commanding my attention. I'd never felt anything like it – this hungry power flowing through my veins, quickening my pulse, tingling across the surface of my skin. My eyes closed to slits and I relished in the sensation of it. I felt lightheaded, _intoxicated_. It overtook me, filling my head with a song as pure as the flames it had ignited.

The passageway fell silent as the goblin finally ceased movement. I slowly turned away from the smoking carcass, heart racing like I'd just dismounted from my broomstick after a long and exhilarating game of Quidditch.

Fili stood a short distance away, frozen in the act of raising his sword. Blood dripped down the side of the blade, thick and oozing, leaking in long sticky strands to the ground – _drip drip drip_. There was shock in his gaze, mingled with another emotion I could not place. I took a slow step towards him and something slammed down behind his eyes. His face hardened, eyes guarded, readjusting the hold on his sword.

I dimly realized my lips were pulled back in a euphoric grin.

_Why was I grinning?_

A shriek sounded from behind. The goblins were almost upon us.

'_Let them come'_, a voice murmured in the back of my head. '_They don't stand a chance against us.'_ I flexed my fingers, magic pooling into my palms. '_Burn them_,' the voice crooned, filling my mind with images of blackened bodies withering in the flames – _my_ flames. Such a beautiful thought. One word and they would roast alive, bones disintegrating under sheer heat.

'_Burn them all…'_

"We have to go." My own voice surprised me in its calm assurance. I stooped and picked up the fallen sword. The dwarf prince tensed as I passed him by, raising his sword slightly higher. For a second I thought he might try to stop me. Something inside me reared up at the challenge, screaming for a fight, but I forced it down. _Goblins_, I reminded myself. _Too many of them. Get out now_. I started to run towards the thin slant of daylight at the end of the tunnel, invigorated by the magic still pulsing through my veins.

It never occurred to me to check if Fili was following.

Fresh air and sunlight hit my face. I sucked in breath, filling my lungs with cold, clean oxygen. The cave opened up to a steep hill dotted with pine trees. The sun hung low in the dimming sky, casting long shadows across the lush green landscape. I glanced over my shoulder at the looming mountain and realized with some surprise that we had passed _through_ it and out the other side.

"Fili? Cassie?" Someone shouted. Dwalin waved from farther down the hill, urging us to hurry.

I ran, marveling in the feel of the wind whistling past my ears, the grass slapping at my legs. We weaved through trees and over rocks never pausing for rest. Once we had distenced ourselves enough from the cave's enterance Thorin called for a halt. The dwarves were all panting heavily, leaning against the trees and nursing their wounds. Oddly enough I didn't feel out of breath, nor did my sides hurt quite as painfully as they should have. My skin was still tingling from the outburst of power. I felt… strong. _Alive_. There was a giddying lightness in my chest that made me want to laugh and laugh and _laugh_.

"Bifur, Bofur…that's ten, Fili, Kili…that's twelve… Miss Morgan!" I was shocked beyond words when Gandalf paused unexpectedly in his counting to pull me into a brief one-armed hug. He released me and clasped my shoulder tightly. "I am _very_ pleased to see you alive and well." He beamed.

It happened without warning.

The strange magic, which had gradually faded to a dull pulsing during our descent of the hill, suddenly peaked with renewed intensity and I stared up into the old man's wrinkled face as though I were seeing him for the first time.

_Olorin._

Rage. The emotion flared up with such force it overwhelmed me, hate digging through my mind like knives. For one dizzying second I forgot who I was.

_Burn burn burn burn burn_.

My mouth opened on its own accord and I felt a word build up in my throat – an incantation that would ignite the world with red-hot flames once more.

_Burn, you old fool_.

I jerked away, ending our embrace and stumbling backwards a few steps. The anger faded instantly, ending with such abruptness my knees buckled and threatened to give way. A hand shot out and steadied me. "Miss Morgan?"

The magic dwindled and died, leaving me hollow and shaking. The numbing sensation died with it and I gritted my teeth as my midsection suddenly exploded with pain, as did my left arm.

"Cassie?"

Gandalf's concerned face swam into focus. Panic seized me as I realized what had happened – what I'd come so close to doing. I glanced to the side and saw Fili standing close by, one hand on the hilt of his sword as he watched our exchange through narrowed eyes.

"M'fine," I muttered, casting my eyes around the clearing for something to distract the old man's attention, anxiety pulsing in my gut. Thorin was speaking to Balin, gesturing at the mountain every now and then as they debated the next stage of our escape. Dwalin crouched beside Oin who was examining a gash above Ori's temple. Bombur, Dori, Bofur and Bifur stood huddled together a little to the right while Nori, Kili and Gloin paced around the clearing, clearly too wound up to catch their breaths.

I frowned, scanning the clearing a second time and slowly counting the faces. "Hey," I said suddenly, "where's Bilbo?"

oooOOOooo

**Yes, I know, I deliberately left out the part when the Great Goblin crushes them. It always seemed a little silly to me in the film so I decided not to have it happen in this chapter. There's just no way they could have survived it.**

**This chapter's a little darker than the others. Yes, Cassie's magic is returning, but to what price? Please let me know what you thought about it.**

**Oh yeah, and if you were hoping for some funny/embarrassing comparisons between Middle-Earth goblins and Gringotts' goblins, then sorry to disappoint, but I think that after the conversation with Lindir in Rivendell, Cassie has leant not to make such quick assumptions and never to assume that things will ever be as she expects them to be.**

**Only one more chapter to go! :o **


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